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“most beautiful ( NE!” he breathed into MV EAR. 

Page 88 



Playing the Game 

The Story of a Society Girl 



NEW YORK 

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 




Copyright 1910, by 

THE NEW YORK HERALD COMPANY 


Playing the Game 


©Ci.a268aS8 


A 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I The First Note 7 

II The Game Is On 20 

III Enter Mrs. Dolly 43 

IV Gypsy^s Mother Maneuvers 60 

V The Sporting Chance 73 

VI Dick Takes a Hand 96 

VII One Coup and Another 119 

VIII Fate^ the Silent Player 142 

IX The Whirling Wheel of Fortune 166 

X Gypsy Makes a Reckless Move 188 

XI Several Hands Are Shown., 208 

XH Fate Scores 230 

XHI The Winner 251 



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“I Stopped Short in My Effort at Pouring Tea” 35 

“She Picked Up a Mirror and Gazed Ruefully Into 
It” 6i 

“Most Beautiful One!” He Breathed Into My 
Ear Frontispiece 88 


“With a Final Whirl I Flew Into the Arms He 


Opened Wide” 124^^ 

“I Flung Myself Into a Chair . . . My Face Buried 

IN My Hands” 147 - 

“Some Pretty Romance of the Quartier it Was, no 
Doubt,” He Volunteered Facetiously 221 



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PLAYING THE GAME 


CHAPTER I 

THE FIRST MOVE 

I HAVE attempted that which God and the world are 
supposed to look upon as a crime. That is a simple 
statement of fact without analysis or excuse. One 
who is in a position to know has claimed that boredom 
was at the bottom of my attempt, and Pve laughed. 
‘‘So you think that the one tragedy of my life?” I’ve 
asked. Yet as I go over the hideous details of all that 
went before, I am firmly convinced of the truth — bore- 
dom was the root from which branched the events 
that followed. 

For more than three years, day in and day out. I’d 
been doing the same things, saying the same things 
and meeting the same things — the nothings that figure 
7 


8 


PLAYING THE GAME 


so prominently in the society columns of our daily and 
weekly papers. And I belonged to them, was one of 
them. 

I was born to it, just as the criminal’s child is born 
to crime unless some one leads him away from it early 
enough. A gold spoon baby I suppose the world 
would have called me. All my life Fd been pampered 
and indulged by governesses who were paid to do it 
and others who knew it was to their best interests. 

My mother is a cold, brilliant woman who adores 
men and looks upon women as cats who’ll scratch the 
minute she turns her back; so she smiles impartially 
on both sexes and ranks as a “popular matron who 
retains much of the beauty of her early youth. 
Morally and mentally I’ve never interested her par- 
ticularly, but socially — ^and matrimonially — I was to 
prove a credit to her, of course. That was probably 
planned when I was in the cradle. 

My father is likewise cold and brilliant and is known 
as “a man of affairs.” Occasionally he proves himself 
human by exhibiting a volcanic temper. That is all I 
know about him. 

I have one brother, a lawyer, who ranks as an ec- 


THE FIRST MOVE 


9 


centric because he doesn’t care about playing the game. 
He was for a long time the oasis in my desert of life. 

I was introduced when I was just nineteen. It 
seemed all roses and golden glory then. I’d been 
trained for the great occasion — fatted and pruned, 
fluffed and smoothed, told how to stand and how to 
sit, what to say, how and to whom to say it. But 
I learned my lesson cheerfully — the world was mine 
and I was a child, insatiable. Five debutantes were 
selected to receive with me — not too good-looking, nor 
yet homely enough to call attention to the fact. Two 
of them were friends, the others were girls who would 
be giving worth-while entertainments throughout the 
winter. 

From the day of my debut I gained a reputation 
for originality by changing the bouquet on my arm 
every five or ten minutes. It was done, incidentally, 
to show how many flowers I’d received — a rather tiring 
process, but excellent advertisement of my mother’s 
popularity. Such are the hallmarks of social distinc- 
tion. 

There was a bewildering array of teas that first 
year, dozens of them just like my own, at which 


10 


PLAYING THE GAME 


people did and said the same things with little or 
no variety. You could very well have taken a sample 
of one as a specimen of the rest. But I loved it — 
all of it. The lights and the fragrance of perfumes 
and flowers, the music and the blaze of color dazzled 
me so that I had no time to note details. I was whirled 
about like a helpless little marionette. The string was 
pulled and I danced — I wanted to dance, I wanted 
to be everywhere and do everything at once, and I 
did, most of the time. 

I don’t recall anything definite about that first year — 
it was just a gorgeous medley. There wasn’t a single 
human being that counted. I was in love with the 
shining, brilliant, starry world — my own exclusive 
world, outside of which I thought no other existed. 
I was fascinated by the attentions shown me. I was 
hailed as a belle and beauty — all society girls are called 
beauties in the newspapers. They’d be furious if they 
weren’t, and it really is remarkable what wonders a 
little careful retouching will accomplish with a photo- 
graph to be used for reproduction. Sometimes I’ve 
scarcely recognized myself. 

That first year might have been the only one that 


THE FIRST MOVE 


11 


was ever going to be. I went through it as all girls 
do — dazed, half blinded, unappeasable, never quite 
normal, and limp as a rag at the end of it. 

It was during my second season that I began to get 
a clearer view of things — to separate the men from 
the music, so to speak. And then it began to dawn 
on me how absolutely null and void the former was 
without the latter. 

Already two of the girls who received with me had 
done their duty brilliantly. Tall, slim, cool Elinor 
Burland, fashioned on Puritan principles and May- 
flower lines, had a sallow-faced roue near fifty to show 
for her year in the novice class. She was to ‘‘take the 
veir' — and a name attached to millions with it — early 
in the spring, and the papers busied themselves with 
the details of her trousseau in most gratifying fashion. 

Jeanne Bigelow, the other “success,” had come home 
from abroad with a French poodle and a French count. 
I wondered, the night she presented them both to us 
at a horse show box party, whether she haid paid duty 
on the latter as well as the former, he was so obvi- 
ously made to order. He was narrow-shouldered, 
blond and watery, and spoke with a beautiful baby lisp. 


PLAYING THE GAME 


U 

He looked as though for generations his ancestors had 
fed on those flabby French oysters — marennes, they are 
called — that leave such a nasty metallic taste in your 
mouth. Jeanne put him through his paces that night 
for all the world as though she were exhibiting a blue- 
ribboner, and I dare say that’s just the way she felt 
about him. It didn’t matter much, a horse, a dog, or 
a prospective husband, so long as he was for one reason 
or another an enviable possession. 

A few days later Jeanne’s brother — a sprig of the 
American nobility,” a certain magazine of town talk 
called him in describing the affair — gave a luncheon 
at Sherry’s for his sister and her foreign trophy of 
the chase. We had a table in the main room — ^publicity 
at a party of this kind is by no means a thing to be 
shunned. There were only ten in all, but Fritzy (short 
for John Frederick Hun ten Bigelow, the last two re- 
cently hyphenated) had something new for us in the 
way of a Hungarian baron, who, from all accounts, 
though vague at best, was here representing his govern- 
ment. Fritzy had met him at Carlsbad and taken him 
up, with few questions asked. We were informed in 
advance that he doffed his titles while here and was 


THE FIRST MOVE 


13 


to be known modestly as Dr. de Berenzig. He was 
about thirty-five, well built, well groomed, well stayed, 
and wore inconspicuously several small orders and a 
distinguished-looking monocle on a heavy black cord. 
Jeanne’s count faded quite into insignificance beside 
the charm of this newcomer. 

He made an impression from the instant he came in, 
gracefully acknowledged his introduction, with just 
enough of military stiffness to accentuate his narrow 
waist and broad shoulders, and took his place among 
us with the ease of an experienced cosmopolite. Fritzy 
gave him to me for luncheon, and I never could re- 
member what else I had, save that there was grapefruit 
cocktail at the beginning and Turkish coffee at the 
end. 

Dr. de Berenzig was fascinating. In spite of the 
touch of precision that distinguished his English as it 
did his figure, there was about him nothing of the 
foreign poseur. He was forceful, with determination 
hidden beneath his carefully clipped mustache and a 
tantalizing suggestion of fire under rather heavy eye- 
lids. 

He called with Fritzy a few days after the luncheon, 


14 


PLAYING THE GAME 


and immediately found favor with my exacting mother, 
who had of late none too delicately broached the sub- 
ject of the brilliant marriage I hadn’t made. 

I was thrilled at the possibility of his becoming a 
‘‘suitor” — ^accent on the “or” — as my intimates called 
him when we began to be seen about together. After 
the callow youth and senile age of the ballroom and 
tea-table, he was an intense relief. Most of the men 
I knew regarded a girl who attempted any subject out- 
side the latest play or party either as an awful female 
trying to make idiots of them or as one who was some- 
thing of a fool herself. Dr. de Berenzig looked upon 
me as more than the newest thing in gowns with a 
girl inside. He seemed interested in my views on 
everything, even sounding me on the marriage and 
divorce question. Helene Penning — whom I loved more 
than any one in the world — used to twit me with the 
announcement that I looked almost human when he 
was near. And small wonder ! I’d never before dared 
tell a male creature that I read anything but the latest 
popular novel. 

The night of the Hamilton Warrens’ midwinter 
dance I disgraced myself by cutting five dances for 


THE FIRST MOVE 


15 


him. By this time he was enjoying quite a vogue 
among a score of matrons always on the watch for a 
foreign piece de resistance to exploit. But he did not 
dance — at least not according to American standards — 
and he was far too graceful to attempt anything he 
could not do well. 

To my amazement, my rudeness rather pleased my 
mother. 

‘‘You're doing beautifully/' she vouchsafed on the 
way home. “Before long every one — even the papers — 
will have you engaged to him." 

“Do you really think he — cares for me?" I asked 
breathlessly. 

She smiled tolerantly upon me. “If he doesn't now 
there's not much doubt that he's going to," she said 
resolutely. 

My mother was already beginning to entertain 
visions of visiting her daughter, the Baronne de Beren- 
zig — the title would no longer rust in retirement once 
the baron became my mother's son-in-law — at the an- 
cestral estate near Budapest. 

The magazine of town talk previously mentioned had 
helped along the cause by hinting that “something was 


16 


PLAYING THE GAME 


pretty sure to come of the devotion of a certain dis- 
tinguished visitor to our fascinating, gypsy-haired 
young friend, who from the day she made her bow to 
us, little over a year ago, has been steadily gaining 
in originality and, one might almost say, daring/^ I 
couldn’t quite see where this last came in, and it 
didn’t especially please my mother — it’s one of the 
few charming uncertainties of my particular species 
of life, waiting, yet dreading to see whether next 
week’s issue of this spicy little sheet will have any- 
thing to say of you. It served, however, to link my 
name with the baron’s, so there were compensations. 

The devotion of the distinguished visitor continued 
without developing any exciting details until toward 
the end of the season, when there appeared in town 
for a very short visit an American woman then resi- 
dent in Italy, a papal countess, whose hobby was 
charity bazaars. She had a habit of swooping down 
upon New York each year, victimizing the populace 
with a series of concerts, tableaux and fairs, and fly- 
ing back to Italy with the proceeds thereof. I’ve often 
suspected that her charity began at home, but Gotham 
is quite willing to pay for its pastimes, and the countess* 


THE FIRST MOVE 17 

parties were never dull. Their chief flavor consisted 
in a motley array of semi-bohemians, some of whom 
were ‘'artistes,’’ whose “art” cloaked a mode of life 
that some of our liveliest matrons might well have 
envied. Not that tickets for these affairs were scat- 
tered broadcast — indeed, no! They were procurable 
through invitation only and at a price calculated to 
exclude the “vulgar herd.” 

The affair I speak of took place at the Waldorf 
when the Waldorf ballroom was the most beautiful 
in town. My mother had a first-tier box, as was her 
wont, and Dr. de Berenzig and I chose seats in the 
rear so that we could talk undisturbed throughout the 
performance. 

During one of the acts, when pitchy darkness shut 
us from view, we ventured into the corridor behind the 
boxes, and the dialogue that there ensued, while not 
unique, is worthy of chronicle in view of the events 
that followed. 

“Fraulein,” the baron whispered, his lips close to 
my cheek, “you are beautiful to-night — ^your eyes, your 
hair like moon-kissed night. You are exquisite — a 
picture !” 


18 


PLAYING THE GAME 


‘‘You say the commonplace thing in an extraordi- 
narily attractive manner,” I laughed up at him. “And 
now that you’ve done your duty ” 

But the baron was bending over me. “Do you 
know,” he breathed, “you make me quite — mad! I 
want to — ^kiss you.” 

I stared through the shadows into his face. This 
was not what I had expected. I knew it to be con- 
trary to the foreign method of procedure. I thought 
of the daring with which I had been credited and 
longed for some of it at hand to relieve the situation. 
He was leaning oppressively close, and suddenly I 
felt a longing to tell him to straighten up and be a 
man. 

“Will you not come for a little promenade with 
me in the corridor outside?” I heard him saying. “No 
one is there now, and ” 

His face came closer to mine. I rose, pushing off 
the hand that clasped my arm. “I will not,” I replied 
indignantly. “I’m surprised at you for asking it. What 
do you mean to ” 

And just then the lights went up. The countess, 
who had been behind the scenes, came toward us as 


THE FIRST MOVE 19 

she returned to her box. The flush of the hostess was 
on her brow, her steps were hurried, congratulations on 
the success of the affair awaited her. But she stopped 
short on catching sight of my companion. 

^^Why, Baron de Berenzig!’’ she exclaimed, extend- 
ing her hand. ‘When did you arrive ? I’m so glad to 
see you. How are you? And do tell me, how is the 
dear little Madame la Baronne ?” 


CHAPTER II 


THE GAME IS ON 

The revelation that Baron de Berenzig was not in 
a position to press his suit because of the apparently 
unimportant detail of a wife hidden away somewhere 
in Europe caused first a shock of astonishment, then of 
indignation. That the man had dared to attach him- 
self to me so frankly, so unequivocally; that he had 
permitted tongues to wag and rumor to busy itself with 
our names, appeared a course of conduct of which only 
the stereotyped padded stage or '‘best seller” villain 
would be guilty. The entire affair was nothing short 
of an insult, and I determined that he should suffer 
for it. He should be exposed, annihilated before the 
whole of my world and then laughed out of it. 

It has never been a habit of mine to indulge in cosy 
corner or fireside chats with my mother, but the night 

of the countess’ little surprise party I could scarcely 
20 


THE GAME IS ON 


n 

wait for the opportunity to empty my cup of indigna- 
tion to the very dregs. The first flat, unadulterated 
statement of facts was made in the motor directly we 
had dropped the baron at his apartment on our way 
home. My mother, however, has schooled herself never 
to exhibit emotions other than mild surprise, cool 
amusement or infinite contempt. On this occasion it 
was mild surprise, with an admixture of disbelief. But 
later, in her boudoir, I had the slight satisfaction of 
painting the baron’s duplicity with impressionistic ef- 
fect. I can see myself now, huddled in the big armchair 
my mother used when ease of costume permitted, slap- 
ping the color on my picture with prodigal extrava- 
gance. 

When the thing was completed in all its glaring 
audacity I flung myself out of the chair. “He ought 
to be behind prison bars,” I cried. “A man like that 
is a menace to decent society.” 

My mother looked past me, and this time her expres- 
sion was a mingling of cool amusement and infinite 
contempt. “We are not speaking of 'decent society,’ ” 
she observed slowly, accenting the words. “My butcher 
and my baker represent that.” Then to my astonish- 


22 PLAYING THE GAME 

ment she came back to me with the question: ‘'Did 
any one but you hear the countess ask for his wife?’’ 

“Why, no,” I answered in somewhat bewildered 
fashion. “We were sitting in the corridor behind the 
boxes and he was daring to tell me he wanted to—” 
I flamed at the recollection of the baron’s words. 

“Sit down,” my mother interrupted, “and we’ll talk 
the thing over calmly. I’m rather weary of dramatics. 
If no one but ourselves knows of the wife in Europe 
there’s no necessity for this wild upheaval.” 

“But every one will know to-morrow. I’ll see to it 
that they do. I’m going to shout it from the house- 
tops. I’m going to let people know the sort of man 
they’ve taken up and welcomed in their homes. I’ll 
tar-and-feather him so that there will be no more 
trickery and deceit ” 

“Don’t be a little fool!” And now my mother’s 
face exhibited a fine showing of contempt minus every 
vestige of amusement or surprise. “Do you want to 
make us the goats? What do you suppose the world 
would do? It would laugh — of course it would — ^and 
point the finger of scorn — at you, and at me! We 
accepted him, we entertained him — ^without question. 


THE GAME IS ON 2S 

We made him one of us and were glad of the chance — 
and the world knows that too. Did he ever intimate 
by word or deed that he wanted to marry you? We 
merely took the fact for granted. Books, candies, flow- 
ers ? — other married men have used the same means of 
paying off social obligation. If we were dupes, it is our 
own fault. His sin was one of omission, not commis- 
sion. He never denied having a wife — he merely 
omitted mentioning that there was one.’^ 

For the moment I was too shocked to be amused, 
though I have often since laughed over the memory 
of the scene. “Isn’t that rather a sad splitting of 
hairs?” I asked indignantly. “It seems to me that 
when a man hoodwinks people who have received him 
in good faith it’s rather more a sin of commission than 
anything else. And when, added to that, a married 

man deliberately compromises a young girl ” 

“Compromise nothing !” my mother interrupted vul- 
garly. “I thought you had some mental balance, my 
dear. Don’t you see that the only chance of compro- 
mise for you is if the world should discover that he is 
married? And that is not at all probable. The coun- 
tess told me herself that this is to be only a flying visit. 




PLAYING THE GAME 


She leaves, I believe, next week and expects to run 
down to Long Island before she goes, so we’ll be quite 
rid of her. And, besides, the very way she greeted 
the baron proves that she thinks every one here is 
acquainted with conditions. Did he seem at all em- 
barrassed when she spoke to him ?” 

‘‘No. That was to me final and conclusive proof of 
his villainy. He went back into the box with me and 
sat there whispering hysterical nothings into my ear 
until I wanted to shriek. Whew!” I shuddered. “It 
was the worst hour of my life.” 

“I should say he carried it off beautifully,” remarked 
my mother unsympathetically. “And it is our duty 
now to help him.” 

“Help him!” I had lost all control of myself and 
was commencing to sob foolishly. “Do you mean to 
say— you intend to aid and abet him in his deception? 
Am I expected to go on meeting him, as though — ^noth- 
ing had happened?” The thing seemed too apalling 
to be conceivable. 

“From what I know of the man, he has too much 
savoir faire to make it uncomfortable for you. I evi- 
dently know less of you than I thought,” she added 


THE GAME IS ON 


25 


disapprovingly; ‘^but if Tm not altogether mistaken 
you have brains enough to drop him gradually until 
the world will gain the impression that you have 
changed your mind and given him his conge. It is 
by no means a difficult situation. Though, come to 
think of it” — my mother looked at me with something 
like a real light in her eyes — ^‘‘weVe really been making 
a mountain out of a molehill. Who knows but that 
Baron de Berenzig may be entertaining an idea of di- 
vorcing his wife in your favor?” 

This was just a bit too much for me. I gave my 
mother one comprehensive look and rushed from the 
room to my own, flinging myself on the bed to indulge 
in the first fit of hysterics I had ever enjoyed. And 
then I spent the sort of night that drives one early to 
rouge and the black pencil. 

It was the first real glimpse I’d had of the kind of 
world I’d been dropped into and my first spiritual re- 
bellion against adjusting myself to the conditions sur- 
rounding me. I couldn’t commence to realize that this 
was the sort of game I’d have to play throughout my 
natural life, the constant sacrifice of truth and right 
at the altar of the god of gossip. I remember once wit- 


26 


PLAYING THE GAME 


nessing the greeting between two women, one of whom 
was at the very moment carrying on a most interesting 
affaire with the other’s husband. Every one in the 
room had been anxious for the two to meet, and when 
the woman whose husband had strayed from the fold 
was announced an anticipatory hush settled over the 
audience. The woman entered, greeted her hostess, and 
then deliberately walked over to her successor and 
embraced her, but I saw her face as she did it, and I 
never again want to look into such frightened eyes. 

I had never felt alone and helpless, but I did the 
night my mother revealed to me her point of view and 
the world’s. 

My first impulse was to go to Nella Penning with 
the whole wretched tale. Then I thought of my brother, 
surrounded by his lawbooks and a vaster experience 
of human complexities. Early the next morning I 
had my maid call a cab, and slipped out of the house 
before my intention could be discovered. I had to cut 
a lecture on ''Self-government” that I should have at- 
tended with my mother — that was why I went out 
quietly and drove at once to Dick’s apartment in East 
Forty-sixth Street. 


THE GAME IS ON 


27 


On his return from college it had not taken Dick 
long to learn that my mother was unprepared for his 
refusal to regard his profession merely as a divertise- 
ment from the social game. She had anticipated ex- 
ploiting his brains as a side-issue to his attractive 
figure, and so evident had been her disapproval of his 
preference for work, that my brother now lived in 
bachelor quarters with his friend and partner, Robert 
Stead. 

Their little place was crowded with mission furni- 
ture and redolent of pipe-dreams. The subtle fragrance 
clung to tapestries on the walls of the living-room and 
enriched the oak wainscoting. Even the cushions of 
the wide davenport, stiff and leathern though they 
were, flung out reminiscences of friendly conference 
over briars and blazing logs. An atmosphere of sincere 
comfort, of freedom from artificiality and costly veneer, 
spread over the rooms like a benediction. 

To me it felt very much like home, with its warmth 
and careless air of companionship. I pushed uncere- 
moniously past the Japanese butler and into the library, 
but halted in the doorway. Two armchairs were drawn 
into the light of the central window. As I hesitated, 


28 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Dick glanced around. He sprang up, stuffed into the 
pocket of his dressing-gown a pipe he had been filling, 
and drew me into the center of the room. Then I 
noticed that the other chair was unoccupied. 

“What does it mean ?” he asked, pleasure chasing the 
surprise from his face. “Bob and I are not accustomed 
to visitors at this hour of the morning.’^ 

He put me into the armchair as though I would break 
if roughly handled, and sat down beside me. I plunged 
recklessly into my story, pouring forth the whole of 
it — my fury at the baron’s daring game, the astonish- 
ing attitude of my mother and her suggested course of 
action. Before I had finished, Dick was pacing the 
floor, one hand thrust deep into a pocket, the other 
fumbling with the pipe now gripped between his teeth. 

“The man ought to be drawn and quartered” — he 
stopped before me, shoulders flung back, his black- 
rimmed, gray eyes like tempered steel — “and I’d like 
to have the job !” Then, suddenly, he bent down, tilted 
my chin, and stared silently an instant. “Do you care 
too much about him to forget?” he asked at last. 

“I looked up in amazement. “Care about him! Do 


THE GAME IS ON 


29 


you think after such a humiliation, such hurt to my 
pride 

Dick laughed with relief. ^‘My dear little girl, if 
he'd really meant anything to you, this would have 
hurt more than your pride.” 

I leaned forward. ^Tt's going to hurt more,” I an- 
swered vehemently, ^‘if I have to go on meeting him 
quite as if all this hadn’t happened. And that’s what 
mother expects.” 

Dick sat down on the arm of my chair. *Tn a way 
your mother (I’ve never heard him say ‘^my mother”) 
is right. If you’re to go on living in that sort of world, 
you’ve got to be of it. Otherwise, you’ll be miserable.” 

‘'From present indications. I’ll probably be miserable 
anyway,” I sighed. "It’s not a cheerful outlook, is 
it?” 

Dick slid an arm about me. "It’s not a sweet sort 
of way to have your eyes forced open. I’d rather have 
had you go on blindly making all the innocent mis- 
takes in the world. I’d rather see you now turn Dr. 
de Berenzig out of doors and be able to look your 
conscience in the face. But if you did you’d eventually 
be the sufferer. Your mother knows her world — it’s 


30 


PLAYING THE GAME 


bone of her bone. She can’t any more help playing the 
game of diplomacy than I can help tampering with the 
law — or Bob fighting like a bull-pup in court.” 

The last was added as Robert Stead came into the 
room, hat in hand, an overcoat flung across his arm. 
Alive, alert, abrupt almost, he suggested muscle and 
power in every movement. Yet there was a friendly 
look about the eyes that shot at you from their deep 
setting, and a mouth constantly curving into a quick, 
knowing smile. Essentially a man’s man, I could un- 
derstand Dick’s intense admiration for his partner. 
We had first met when my brother was a clerk in the 
law offices of “Greenough & Stead,” and now that 
Dick had become an associate, I saw but little more of 
Robert Stead than I had then. In the few glimpses I 
gained of him on such occasions as this, he impressed 
me as a powerful machine perpetually in motion. One 
could not picture the wheels coming to a stop or failing 
to accomplish their purpose. The vital youth of his 
face stamped the man not yet thirty-five ; the lines cut 
by encounters with the rough corners of experience 
indicated all of forty. 

‘T’m just trying to convince this little sister of 


THE GAME IS ON 


31 


mine,” Dick started to explain when the other had 
given my hand a hearty grip, ‘‘that the social gamers 
the same as any other. You've got to make a cleverer 
move than the other fellow or you lose ” 

“What?” Robert Stead clipped off the sentence. 
“What is there to gain or lose?” 

Dick ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. 
“You always bring me up against a blank wall. Bob,” 
he laughed. 

The other man’s coat was dropped on to the couch 
and he sat down beside us. “I plead absolute ignorance 
on the subject,” he smiled, “but it has always seemed 
to me that in other games there is more to win and 
less to lose — more in the way of compensation. Un- 
derstand, I’m speaking from the man’s point of view,” 
he added hastily, meeting my eyes. “There’s more in 
it for a woman, no doubt. I dare say her success in 
society is equivalent to man’s in business. But then 
I’m not in a position to know — either woman or so- 
ciety. What right have I to express an opinion, after 
all?” 

I saw at once that he feared having offended me 
and was trying in the first way that suggested itself 


S2 PLAYING THE GAME 

to smooth any ruffled feathers. He needn't have, 
though — for just at the moment I felt particularly in 
sympathy with him. 

“You've the right of any spectator, Mr. Stead," I 
answered, “to judge the passing show." 

Dick laughed. “You don’t know Bob, Gypsy," he 
protested. “The role of spectator doesn't fit him. If 
he’s interested in a thing, he’s in it, head, shoulders 
and the rest of him. If he isn’t, then it doesn’t exist 
for him, that’s all." 

It occurred to me that had I known Robert Stead 
well enough to plunge him, head and shoulders, into 
my present difficulties, he might have found a way out. 
Then I hated myself for my flash of disloyalty to Dick. 

I rose to go. “It must be wonderful to be so in- 
tensely interested in some one thing that nothing else 
exists." There may have been a note of longing in 
my voice. 

Robert Stead leaned nearer to me and a big light 
came into his eyes. “You can have the biggest interest 
in the world — ^humanity," he said. 

“I’m. having my first lessons now in the intricacies 
of human nature" — I managed an uncertain smile as 


THE GAME IS ON S3 

I extended my hand — -“and they hurt. Is that a fair 
beginning, do you think?” 

Dick frowningly interrupted. “See here, Gypsy, 
whenever you want respite from the butterfly game, 
come down here to Bob and me and we’ll give you all 
the human interest you need.” 

He went to the door with me when I left. “Drop 
in some time this week,” I pleaded, “and try at least 
to talk to mother. We’re dining at home Thursday 
night— come then, won’t you?” 

“Of course I will.” Dick squeezed my hand. “But 
don’t worry, little girl. If I know a cad, he’s usually 
a coward. I don’t think Dr. de Berfenzig will further 
trouble you.” 

But in that he did not know the particular class of 
cad to which the baron belonged. 

Dr. de Berenzig was evidently not of the elastic con- 
science kind — ^he simply had no conscience to stretch. 
When I reached home, I found he had telephoned to 
remind me that he was coming in that afternoon to 
tea. My maid gave me the message, as she had many 
others from him, with a sentimental smile. But it 
changed to wonder as I dressed impatiently for a lunch- 


PLAYING THE. GAME 


34f 

eon engagement and made her look up a memorandum 
of calls to fill the afternoon. 

*T\\ not be in until late/' I called, hurrying off. 
‘‘You understand? No matter who calls.” 

I left a similar message with the butler, and was out 
of the house before my mother returned from the lec- 
ture on “Self-government.” 

Yet when I returned after exhausting my list, 
I was detained with the news that tea was being served 
in the library and madam was awaiting me there. 

I tried to trail into the room with the ease of man- 
ner to which I had been trained, but felt myself going 
from red to yellow with kaleidoscopic giddiness. He- 
lena Penning was there — ^my Nella, to whom I knew 
I should, before long, make a clean breast of everything 
— and Mrs. James Taghern-Steward, who grinned like 
a Cheshire cat and scratched like ten of them, and. Perry 
Willing, whose chief joy in life was carrying compro- 
mising* tales from one woman to another. There’s a 
pretty story told about Perry — that one night when he 
and a kindred spirit were coming home from a party 
rather the worse for wear they were held up by a foot- 
pad, and as Perry slid down, an easy victim to the 




\ 


IN MY EFFORT AT POURING TEA.” 

Page 35 


“I STOPPED SHORT 






34 PLAYING THE. GAME 

eon engagement and made her look up a memorandum 
of calls to fill the afternoon. 

“Pll not be in until late/' I called, hurrying off. 
^‘You understand? No matter who calls.” 

I left a similar message with the butler, and was out 
of the house before my mother returned from the lec- 
ture on “Self-government.” 

Yet when I returned after exhausting my list, 
I was detained with the news that tea was being served 
in the library and madam was awaiting me there. 

I tried to trail into the room with the ease of man- 
ner to which I had been trained, but felt myself going 
from red to yellow with kaleidoscopic giddiness. He- 
lena Penning was there — ‘my Nella, to whom I knew 
I should, before long, make a clean breast of everything 
— and Mrs. James Taghern-Steward, who grinned like 
a Cheshire cat and scratched like ten of them, and. Perry 
Willing, whose chief joy in life was carrying compro- 
mising* tales from one woman to another. There's a 
pretty story told about Perry — that one night when he 
and a kindred spirit were coming home from a party 
rather the worse for wear they were held up by a foot- 
pad, and as Perry slid down, an easy victim to the 



"I STOPPED SHORT IN MY EFFORT AT POURING TEA.” 

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THE GAME IS ON 


35 


sandbag, he wailed threateningly: ^‘You rotter! I’ll 
ruin you socially for this !” 

Baron de Berenzig was seated near my mother, and 
as my glance slipped past him — I could not meet his 
eyes without revealing then and there all I felt — my 
mother rose and gave me her place at the tea-table. 
I knew she was doing it with deliberate intent, and for 
the moment an awful fear gripped me that even then 
I might be the butt of smothered laughter and later of 
open ridicule. I determined to take the bull by the 
horns in spite of everything. 

‘"Oh, by the way,” I remarked to the company in 
general, as I turned with an attempt at nonchalance 
and sprinkled half the orange pekoe over the table in- 
stead of into the teapot, “has anybody had a chance to 
talk to the countess, and did she bring any news worth 
while from abroad ?” 

“Did she?” Mrs. Taghern-Steward drew an Ameri- 
can Beauty rose invitingly across her very red lips and 
smiled over its top at the baron. “Well, rather— such 
a delicious bit I” 

I stopped short in my effort at pouring tea. I felt 
as if suspended in mid air and that the least relaxing 


36 PLAYING THE GAME 

of the tension that held me there would send me dash- 
ing to the ground. 

‘Tm sure you’ll all be interested,” said Mrs. Tag- 
hern-Steward, continuing to draw the rose back and 
forth across her lips until she was quite sure of every 
one’s attention. 

“Then I must say,” pouted Perry Willing, “you’ve 
kept it to yourself long enough. And at the end of the 
season, too, when things are so ghastly dull !” 

“You poor, starved boy !” She brushed his arm teas- 
ingly with the rose. “Well, it’s about some one who’s 
been kind to you, so you needn’t be so happy. It 
seems,” she went on slowly, “that Mrs. Hal Brake- 
man, whose parties Perry has been urging us all winter 
to grace, went to England in February with the hope 
of being presented at the first court.” I heaved a sigh of 
relief, and as I sank back in my chair caught the look 
of contempt I had half expected to meet in my mother’s 
eyes. “Her open sesame,” continued the lady, quite 
unconscious of the by-play she had missed, “was to be 
a string of priceless pearls, something like the waistcoat 
buttons Perry wears,” she added wickedly, “that had 
been presented to Lady Burrell-Crane the summer be- 


THE GAME IS ON 


37 


fore. Lady Burrell-Crane, however, who is a good 
friend of the king, was promptly called to the Conti- 
nent, and poor Mrs. Hal was left without the proper 
inducement.’' 

“The story is scarcely novel,” shrugged Nella, a 
gleam in her eyes. “There are plenty of women who 
have failed of presentation at court merely because an 
expected invitation — that had been well paid for — 
did not arrive.” And she looked squarely at “Mrs. 
Taggy-Stew,” as Perry called the lady behind her back. 

“The story is not yet begun,” replied the other, with 
a chill that omened ill for Nella. “It seems that, noth- 
ing daunted, Mrs. Hal got hold of some one in power, 
the Lord Chamberlain, I believe, at a reception at the 
embassy and expressed an intense desire to see an in- 
vitation to a coming ball at Sandringham. The ac- 
commodating gentleman sent her a card — for inspec- 
tion only — which she proceeded to use in person. Isn’t 
that exquisite?” 

“And she at once became the observed of all ob- 
servers,” put in Perry proudly. “Of course she would.” 

“Any one who has ever seen Mrs. Hal at the opera,” 
conceded Mrs. T.-S., with an uplift of eyebrows and 


38 PLAYING THE GAME 

the corners of her fascinatingly capacious mouth, 
“knows that the breastplate of diamonds she wears 
takes the place of a limelight. The king, of course, 
singled her out and asked who she was. But nobody 
knew. Result — Mrs. Hal privately interviewed and 
informed with regrets that the space she and Mr. Hal 
occupied on the floor was required for the queen’s pet 
dog, who needed exercise, or some such thing.” 

Perry’s round, pink face flushed angrily. “Neverthe- 
less,” he warned, when the hilarity that greeted the 
story had subsided, “Lady Burrell-Crane is coming to 
visit Mrs. Hal before long, and then all Gotham will 
kowtow to her. You wait and see.” 

I joined in the laughter somewhat hysterically. It’s 
always a relief to find some one else where you expect 
to discover yourself — in the pillory. The story was 
but one of many at Mrs. Hal’s expense. Her persistent 
efforts to storm society, backed by Perry’s more subtle 
ones in her behalf, could always be depended upon to 
furnish amusement. 

I had completely forgotten the incident when, a few 
days later, my mother called my attention to a para- 
graph in the magazine of town talk. It announced that 


THE GAME IS ON 


39 


Lady Burrell-Crane would presently visit America — 
either in the early spring or for the Newport season — 
and added slyly that the forthcoming visit was, no 
doubt, responsible for the Hal Brakemans’ unexpected 
return after a short motor trip on the Continent. The 
well-known friend of royalty would be extensively en- 
tertained, though the main object of her visit was the 
investigation of some mining interests in the Far West. 

‘^She has too much sense to stay with the Brake- 
mans,*' my mother observed, referring to Perry's pre- 
diction. ‘‘But she’ll probably permit Perry to give her 
a tea or dinner, and Mrs. Hal will pay for it so that 
she can be there. A pearl necklace does entail certain 
duties, and Lady Burrell-Crane won’t be able to entirely 
avoid them.” 

I laughed. My mother’s calm analysis of men and 
motives was always amusing. 

Dick, who had been leisurely glancing through a 
portfolio of rare Diirer engravings, swung about and 
perched himself on a corner of the library table, up- 
setting the autographed picture of a well-known diplo- 
matist. He had kept his promise to me and dropped 
in to dine for the purpose of discussing Dr. de Beren- 


40 


PLAYING THE GAME 


zig with my mother. Later, he was going on to the 
opera with us. 

“Lady Burrell-Crane,” he mused. “Isn’t she royalty’s 
present — favorite ?” 

My mother frowned. “She’s a great friend of both 
the king and queen,” she corrected, emphasizing the 
lady in the case. 

“Yes, a very particular friend. I’m told,” Dick per- 
sisted wickedly, a boyish laugh in his gray eyes. ‘“So 
now she’s coming to bombard the Anglomaniacs and 
carry off the spoils of war.” 

My mother raised questioning eyebrows. 

“The great American dollar,” Dick explained. 

My mother shrugged. “I don’t know why vulgar 
America always has an idea that the English care about 
us only for our money.” 

Dick disregarded the veiled reproof. “Because it’s 
evident vulgar America succeeds in stepping in where 
vulgar England fails. Of course you and Gypsy don’t 
need a woman like Lady Burrell-Crane. Your position 
is secure on both Continents. You can afford to ignore 
her.” 

My mother smiled contemptuously. In spite of the 


THE GAME IS ON 41 

implied compliment, I could see that Dick’s words 
were having the effect of sandpaper to the touch. They 
had set her teeth on edge. “Yet I shall certainly en- 
tertain her when she comes,” she seemed to delight in 
assuring him. “More than once if she has the time to 
give me.” 

Dick started up. “But why,” he asked in astonish- 
ment, “open your doors to an acknowledged ” 

My mother broke sharply into the sentence. “I am 
not accustomed to such cross-examination. But if it 
interests you,” she taunted, rising to replace the pho- 
tograph of the distinguished diplomat, “I shall enter- 
tain her because we can make use of her abroad. She 

will be an admirable chaperon for ” 

“For Gypsy ?” Dick gasped. He was fast losing his 
self-control. His eyes were flaming. He had forgotten 
even my presence in the room, and the next words were 
flung out recklessly. “Do you mean to say you’d solicit 
the patronage of a notorious woman in the interests 
of your daughter?” 

My mother shuddered, but assumed her habitual calm 
as my father appeared and dinner was announced. 


42 


PLAYING THE GAME 


'‘Really, Dick, your language is scarcely fitted to this 
atmosphere/' 

“No, by George, it isn't !” Dick exclaimed in a choked 
voice. “It’s too confounded frank." He came over to 
me and took me in his arms. “I'm afraid I can't help 
you, little girl. You'll have to work out your own 
salvation. And you will — ^you’ve got pluck." Then 
he turned to my mother, his eyes at white heat. “If 
you’ll pardon me,” he steadied his voice with a tre- 
mendous effort, “I think I’ll go back and dine with 
Bob." 


CHAPTER III 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 

A FEW weeks later we went abroad, and for a time, 
at least, I promised myself I should be spared the an- 
noyance of meeting Dr. de Berenzig. The day we 
left, however, he was represented by a cluster of roses, 
which I flung overboard directly we had pulled into 
midstream. My mother caught a glimpse of the flowers 
shooting through the porthole and characterized my 
method of restoring self-respect as an exhibition worthy 
of a chorus girl. 

I was pleased to death to find dear old Dick at the 
pier to see us off, though my mother’s hand was ex- 
tended as to a stranger and she remarked that it was 
quite unnecessary for him to tear himself away from 
his office for so long. 

My brother had not cut himself off from us after 

the upheaval that might have resulted in a crisis. 

43 


44 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Largely for my sake he often dropped in, or joined us 
during the performance of a Puccini or Verdi opera — 
his favorite composers — and girls took to visiting our 
box in astonishing numbers. Yet more than once he 
would rush off for a word with some friend in the 
circle or gallery. 

Of late, he had done his best to make me forget the 
baron by taking me bodily out of my mother’s world 
into his own. I wondered whether he offered any ex- 
planation to his companions for the number of times he 
added me to their luncheons in downtown restaurants 
or carried me in to preside at his bachelor dinner-table. 
But I was always glad of the welcome given me, the 
bonne camaraderie that made me one of them. I rev- 
eled in Robert Stead’s great, ringing laugh, in Dick’s 
frank, boyish one ; I felt strangely a part of the pungent 
tapestries, terra cotta fireplace, broad, oak mantel and 
wide, inviting chairs. They were Dick’s “home,” and 
their bigness a better setting for him than any gilded 
Louis Quinze drawing-room. 

I can see him now, coming up to us that day on 
the pier, his gray eyes, with their peculiar black rims. 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


45 


snapping as he thrust into my arms a bunch of Ameri- 
can Beauties that reached almost to my shoulders. 

‘^To the only American Beauty in the world for 
me/’ was his greeting, and as he hurried off before 
the vessel steamed : ‘^There’s a little chap below stairs 
to help you forget the other fellow,” he whispered. 

''The little chap” proved to be an ivory charm, a tiny 
Japanese idol, so finely carved that each feature was 
perfect. The card attached read mysteriously: "A 
talisman — may he bring you luck as great as he is 
small !” 

So Dick had provided me with a guard against the 
evil eye of misfortune. I think a tear must have bap- 
tized the little bald head as I tucked the idol away for 
safekeeping. 

We landed in England and motored to London, 
where we left my father. The wife of the American 
ambassador was to present my mother, myself and 
Nella at the third court. Nella joined us in Paris, 
where all three gowns had been ordered. Not that a 
presentation gown is at all interesting; we had been 
supplied with a list of rules and regulations that would 
have made a tenement house landlord hide his face for 


46 


PLAYING THE GAME 


shame. The only item, it would seem, in which one 
can go as far as one pleases is in the matter of price — 
and then one generally goes further. 

Nella arrived in Paris with her own father and a 
delightful widow from San Francisco. I say ‘‘own 
father” advisedly, for the arrangement of Nella’s family 
formed rather an interesting combination. Mr. and 
Mrs. Grant Haywood, whose daughter she was, had 
been divorced in Nella’s infancy. Mr. Haywood had 
then married Mrs. George La Kirke, herself but recent- 
ly divorced, and Nella had gone to live with her mother, 
who later carried out her designs on Rutherford Pen- 
ning’s confirmed bachelorhood and likewise appropri- 
ated his name for her daughter. It’s all rather like a 
game of chess, I know, but like that, one gets used to 
playing it after a time. You’d imagine that with such 
a multiplicity of parentage poor Nella would scarcely 
have had to look into strange quarters for a chaperon. 
Nevertheless, when she reached Paris with Mr. Hay- 
wood — with whom she traveled so seldom that many 
did not even know he was her father — they had with 
them Mrs. Dorothy Brooke, the daintiest powder-puff 
of an up-to-date marquise. 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


47 


The first time I set eyes on Mrs. Dolly I had a 
strange feeling that somewhere, somehow, I had seen 
or met her before, but it was so fine a thread of memory 
that too much stress snapped it and ere long I was 
sure I had been mistaken. She was young and blonde, 
so blonde that her hair seemed a mingling of silver and 
gold. But the eyes in her flower face were black and 
lit like sparks, and her voice was bright and full of life 
like them, suggesting at times just the suspicion of a 
strange accent. 

‘‘What do you think of her?’’ Nella came into my 
room at the Ritz the morning after their arrival. The 
quick enthusiasm that balanced her moods of cynicism 
had been set aflame. Her dark, often somber eyes, 
under their drooping lids, were bright, the tired look 
about her mouth was gone — ^her lips laughed. “What 
do you think of her, Gypsy?’’ she repeated. “Isn’t she 
exquisite ?” 

“Fascinating. Who is she?” I asked carelessly. 

“Daddy Haywood’s known her for some time — met 
her at Colorado Springs when she was there with some 
San Francisco friends of his. He promised her then 
we’d give her a beautiful time if ever she should come 


48 


PLAYING THE GAME 


to town, and she’ll be there all of next winter. Isn’t 
she going to make a hit, and won’t the women hate 
her ?” Nella hugged herself in anticipation. 

‘‘Grass or weed widow?” I questioned. 

I couldn’t help wondering whether Mr. Haywood was 
contemplating a divorce from his present wife in favor 
of the newcomer. Two marriages and a pretty con- 
stant devotion to society had proved the smooth yet 
dominant figure^of the financial — and financially diplo- 
matic — world by no means insensible to feminine 
charms. 

“Widow full-blown.” Nella snuggled into the cush- 
ions of a divan and looked up contentedly. “What does 
it matter, anyway? She’ll have every eligible in 
Gotham dancing in her train before the winter’s over. 
And, by the way, wait until you see her dance. She’ll 
carry you off your feet, too. She’s a winged song.” 

Mrs. Dolly was thoroughly at home in the French 
capital. She had been educated at a convent close to 
Paris and longed to reveal to us some of the charms 
that flirt of cities conceals from rude American eyes. 
But we had time for little more than dressmaker ap- 
pointments, sandwiched with luncheons at Armenon- 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 49 

ville, drives in the Bois, tea at Rtimpelmeyer’s and visits 
to the opera and theaters. 

She went back to London with us, and I knew at 
once that her fame would precede her to New York. 

It was our great regret that she could not be pre- 
sented with us, though Nella confessed to me she didn’t 
think the presentation worth the price of her gown. 
She had felt, she said, as though she were going to 
her own funeral and no hope of heaven beyond, that 
she had been in mortal dread of tripping over her 
train, and that her knees got so mixed when she made 
her obeisance she was surprised she hadn’t gone over 
head foremost. Her one consolation was that the court 
train would make a stunning evening cloak, providing 
her father — Rutherford Penning this time — could be 
persuaded to supply ermine enough to line it. 

As for myself, the brilliance of the scene went 
straight to my head, and Sir John Colburn told me 
afterward that the king wanted to know more of the 
‘^American girl with the shining eyes.” Of course, the 
magazine of town talk had that in black and white two 
weeks later, and Pm rather suspicious the London rep- 


50 PLAYING THE GAME 

resentative got it direct from my own mother, with Sir 
John to vouch for its authenticity. 

But it was Dolly Brooke that held the center of the 
stage that season. Even Evelyn Taghern-Steward, 
who had been ‘‘done over’’ in Paris and sailed into 
London with a French banker in tow, was thrust into 
the background. 

The little Parisian coiffeur who had informed me 
pityingly that “black hair was not being worn this 
year” had taken Mrs. Taggy-Stew in hand. Her dark- 
brown tresses had become a shining aureole, her large 
lips a danger signal, and Nella observed wickedly that 
if she smiled her habitual width her complexion would 
be sure to crack. 

“How do you like me?” she asked when I ran into 
her at an embassy reception. “I feel so* French that 
I’m going to make Jimmy have the billiard table cov- 
ered with glazed flooring — I’m sure that’s the only 
place I’ll want to dance.” 

I was tempted to remark on the colossal undertaking 
of suiting the hair to the fashion, the lips to the hair, 
and the face to combine with both. It seemed rather 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


51 


like the man who, having received the gift of a pair 
of andirons, began by doing over his fireplace to fit 
them and ended by rebuilding his house. 

The following night at a dinner-party at Lady Isabel 
Giddon’s, Jimmy Taghern-Steward, otherwise known 
as Evelyn’s husband, came up to me in the drawing- 
room and slid into place at my side. ‘‘Look at Evelyn,” 
he chuckled. “Lord! won’t I hear about this before 
morning !” 

Evelyn was coiled into a corner of her chair, head 
thrust forward to study through a veil of lashes the 
central figure in a group of men. Mrs. Dolly had come 
with Nella and billowed her way at once into a sea 
of admiration. The worn frames of the antique mir- 
rors that had reflected centuries of Giddons held now 
a picture that brightened their tarnished gold. 

“Is her hair gold — or gray ?” drawled Evelyn quite 
audibly at last to Perry Willing. 

Perry’s round, cherubic face took on a pink-and- 
white smile. He glanced significantly across the room 
to Jimmy. And that was when Jimmy chuckled. 

“Evelyn’s jealous — serve her right!” He edged 
closer to me. Jimmy always poured the woes of his 


52 


PLAYING THE GAME 


wife’s neglect into any sympathetic ear that happened 
at hand. ‘‘A woman can’t go on all her life. pushing 
her husband out of the way for other men and not ex- 
pect to be cut out herself sooner or later.” 

I laughed teasingly into Jimmy’s forlorn face. 
don’t think it’s Evelyn who’s jealous.” 

He sighed and looked across the room. ‘‘Oh, I know 
you think I’m a fool — that I ought to go dangling after 
some other woman and make her sit up. But that 
wouldn’t do any good. She’d be glad I wasn’t bother- 
ing her. Lord ! I could flirt with you right here under 
her nose and she’d only think it confounded amusing. 
Still,” Jimmy brightened suddenly, “you have got a 
pair of eyes, Gypsy ” 

“Well, you won’t, if you please!” I drew aside my 
skirts and moved away from him. “Try it first on 
some one who’s safely married.” 

“Mrs. Brooke, for instance?” asked Jimmy, as a rip- 
ple of laughter floated from where Mrs. Dolly sat like 
an isle of feminine loveliness completely surrounded 
by men. 

“You might. She’s even safer than married. She’s 


a widow.” 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


53 


“Hm,” he sighed contemplatively. 

But it was when we had taken to yawning over the 
inevitable after-dinner sonata that the company in gen- 
eral capitulated to Mrs. Dolly. Some one had supple- 
mented a musical classic with a few lightly struck bars 
of ragtime. Captain Peddington, of the Coldstream 
Guards, offered his arm to Evelyn with the suggestion 
that she and Perry favor us with a real American 
cakewalk. Evelyn drew back, looking shocked, and 
protested that she couldn’t think of such a thing. 

A smiling signal passed between Dolly Brooke and 
Nella. Mrs. Dolly lifted the sides of her chiffon skirt 
as if they had been wings and floated into the center 
of the room like a golden butterfly. 

It was a revelation — as though a miracle of dreams 
had been set to music. 

The effect on the men was electric. The Hon. Cecil, 
Lord Giddon’s heir and hopeful, transferred his affec- 
tions on the spot from an American show girl he’d 
about made up his mind to marry to the lithe, dainty 
creature swaying and lilting like an animated poem. 
Perry Willing predicted fireworks when she should 
land in Newport, and Captain Peddington said he 


54 


PLAYING THE GAME 


wouldn’t be astonished to discover that she was the 
natural daughter of Lola Montez. 

That was the beginning of Mrs. Dolly’s London 
success. 

There was something strangely haunting about the 
delicate figure in its shimmery draperies, and the feel- 
ing that I had seen her at some time or other recurred 
persistently. But I wasn’t anxious to ask questions — 
her mystery was part of her fascination. My mother, 
I am sure, would have been more circumspect had not 
Mr. Haywood’s and Nella’s introduction of her been 
in itself an open sesame. 

But, knowing with that and English approval as a 
background Newport would tumble head over heels 
to entertain the new recruit, my mother hastened to 
lead the ranks. Lady Burrell-Crane had come and gone 
with a fitting flare of trumpets — though not as a guest 
of the Hal Brakemans — when Mrs. Dolly appeared. 
She made her initial bow in the ballroom of our villa, 
and before the night was over dizzied Newport into 
unconditional surrender. 

By the time the New York season opened, she had 
already become the vogue. 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


55 


Mr. Haywood gave a dance for Nella during Horse 
Show week, and since the present Mrs. Haywood never 
troubled herself about her husband's daughter, Dolly 
alone graced the receiving line with Nella, Mr. Hay- 
wood and myself. She wore a gown like a jewel — all 
shaded, silvery green spangles bounded by masses of 
sea-foam chiffon and topped by the glistening shoulders 
of a marble Venus. One sleeve was formed of inter- 
laced strands of emeralds, the other was merely float- 
ing pale-greenish gauze, apropos of which Perry Will- 
ing was heard to say that it was remarkable how much 
dress could be held up by so little, and Evelyn Taghern- 
Steward replied sotto voce that Nella probably would 
be ‘'held up" for the entire affair. Nella wore white 
and silver and I white and gold, variations of the white, 
pale blue and pink to which girls seem to be limited. 
If I were to die a spinster at the age of sixty and wanted 
to retain my reputation of respectability I think my 
wardrobe of evening gowns would still have to contain 
only that maiden trio. 

Captain Peddington was there in search of an heir- 
ess, and Jean Geraud, the French painter, who had come 
over on the same ship. 


56 PLAYING THE GAME 

Monsieur Geraud sat out a dance with me and asked 
whether he might paint my portrait, in the hope, no 
doubt, that my father could be persuaded to buy it when 
completed. When he had my promise for a few sit- 
tings, he glanced over to where Mrs. Dolly was gliding 
through a Strauss waltz with Carleton Deane, dreamily, 
rhythmically, as Strauss must have meant his music 
to be interpreted. He measured her curiously from 
tip to toe and turned to me, a peculiar light in his eyes. 

‘'Mademoiselle Haywood’s ” he began. 

“Penning, you mean,” I corrected. 

“Ah?” He lifted his eyebrows interrogatively, but 
was too thoroughly the French gentleman to question 
further. “Mademoiselle Haywood-Penning,” he went 
on serenely, “has a most attractive friend. Mrs. Brooke 
is her name?” 

I nodded. 

“She — is — American ?” 

“Doesn’t she look it?” I asked, hesitating to let him 
know how very little I could tell him about Dolly 
Brooke. 

“I should say — not quite. But then,” he laughed, 
“she looks more like a nymph who should be floating. 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


57 


hair all unbound, on the top of a wave. It is odd,” 
he mused ; “that is the way she comes to me, strangely 
familiar, a mermaid with hair floating on the green 
water.” 

“When you see her really dance some time,” I 
laughed, “you’ll swear she’s a creature of the air.” 

“And is she never of the earth?” was the question 
which might have meant any of many things. 

“Never of common earth,” I responded, and changed 
the subject. 

But later, when the final figure of the cotillon had 
left a carpet of rose-leaves on the floor and the guests 
had scattered for a buffet of scrambled eggs, salad 
and coffee before leaving, I caught a glimpse of Dolly 
Brooke and Monsieur Geraud wandering toward the 
conservatory. 

“Nella’s picked a winner,” said Carley Deane as we 
happened into an adjoining room, and Dolly’s scintil- 
lating green gown shimmered through the leaves on 
the other side of the glass doors. “She can dance 
through life in my arms, all right.” 

“She’d have plenty of chances to change partners 


58 PLAYING THE GAME 

if she did/’ I replied. ''But get me some punch and I’ll 

drink to your success.” 

"Oh, nothing like that I” Carley sidestepped — to use 
his own vernacular — as he went to look for a waiter, 
and I sank into the downy cushions and closed my 
eyes. 

Small wonder we had all gone mad about Dolly 
Brooke. She was new, different — the breath of an- 
other world, almost. Life as we knew it was madden- 
ingly monotonous, after all — the constant effort to keep 
going, to be seen, spoken of, to be in the public eye and 
on the public lip. Luncheons, teas, bridge, dinners, 
balls, the opera — the day’s business with little or no 
variety. It was like a shrieking, endless mania. 

Already fancy dancing had become a craze. Women 
were commencing to flit about foolishly in everything 
from ballet to bedroom slippers. Dolly, shining, aerial, 
effervescent, had shot into our midst like a rocket from 
the skies and sent her sparks darting out among us. 

A sound other than the murmuring of the fountain 
caused me to open my eyes. Dolly and her companion 
had come nearer the half-open doors of the conserva- 
tory, and I could distinctly hear their voices. 


ENTER MRS. DOLLY 


59 


'^And now you see how I have succeeded/’ she was 
saying with a little laugh. '‘You needn’t have been 
afraid.” 

I did not hear the man’s answer, for it was probably 
whispered as he bent over her. 

“They’ll never know,” she went on. “How should 
they? Why, even Monsieur Geraud ” 

I leaned forward. The man with Mrs. Dolly was 
neither French nor artist as I had supposed, but against 
the half light his shoulders were outlined distinctly 
American. The rest of the figure was lost in the 
shadow of foliage, the face turned from me, the head 
bent. I was still puzzling as to his identity when Carley 
returned. 


CHAPTER IV 


gypsy's mother maneuvers 

One afternoon, shortly after the dance, Nella swept 
in on me as I was dressing for a ride with Captain 
Peddington. It happened to be one of the days when 
my schedule had not been made out for me in advance. 
‘^Take off those togs. Black Eyes," she commanded, 
dropping on the chaise lounge ; ‘'you’ve got to come to 
tea with us." 

“With us ?" I queried, knotting my ascot. 

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions. I’m too weary 
to answer. She tried to stretch her arms above her 
head. “I’d give half a month’s income if I could com- 
fortably get down at length and enjoy forty winks, 
but this dress won’t let me." 

“You looked lively enough when you came in," I 
retorted. 

“Entrances, my dear." Nella waved them aside. 

60 



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GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 61 

‘‘They’re a matter of habit. You know very well if 
I dared to come into a room loking tired, to-morrow 
Ed be heralded as passee, and after that — finis. But I 
am tired — so worn out that I could scream.” 

She picked up a mirror and gazed ruefully into it. 

“Don’t I look it ? And I can’t even bury this awful 
face of mine in a pillow for fear the powder will come 
off.” 

In spite of my unsympathetic laugh I knew just 
how she felt — hysterical, irresponsible. More than once 
I’ve flung myself on the bed at four or five in the morn- 
ing and tossed restlessly for an hour or two, only to 
be awakened, it seemed, the moment I dropped off to 
sleep. Then I’ve had to be fairly pushed into my 
clothes without life to move a limb unaided. Is it a 
cause for wonder that so many girls and women driving 
or motoring wear masks of paint and powder? I call 
it rather the brand on the brow of two classes of 
present-day martyrs with a common cause in life — 
namely, exhibition, barter, sale. Whether it’s a woman 
of the streets or of the salon, the stain seems to be the 
same. 

“You can guess now why I want you to come with 


62 


PLAYING THE GAME 


me/' Nella went on, looking up at me with an appeal 
that would have driven a man to his knees; *‘to save 
my life. You promised to have tea with Billy, and if 
he proposes to me again to-day I shan't have the energy 
to refuse him. I'm always in a yielding mood when 
I'm weary. You’ve simply got to come and protect 
me. 

Billy Stewart's proposals to Helena Penning were 
as legion as they were proverbial. If he happened to 
be sad he proposed to Nella to marry him and make 
him happy. If he felt glad he proposed to her to come 
and give him something to worry about. It didn't 
much matter whether there was an audience about or 
not. Nella probably found his devotion deadly monoto- 
nous, but nobody else did — it was a source of constant 
amusement, and the one quality for which I respected 
or found Billy at all interesting. Everybody looked to 
see him eventually win — every one, that is, but Nella 
and myself. 

To-day I felt a great deal more like a canter with 
Captain Paddington than witnessing Billy's inevitable 
avowal, and I said so. ^‘Where is Dolly ?” I asked. 

Mrs. Dolly had taken a little apartment in the fifties 


GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 63 

directly off Madison Avenue. She went about con- 
stantly, however, with Nella and had effectually re- 
organized our duet into a trio. 

^‘Motoring, I believe,” Nella answered. ‘^She's not 
been in to see me, and I haven’t caught a glimpse of her 
all day. Telephone Captain Peddy, there’s a dear, 
and have him come, too.” 

I almost think it was fear that in a rash moment 
Nella might be tempted to silence Billy by accepting 
him that drove me finally to inform Captain Pedding- 
ton that it was to be tea instead of trot. 

However displeased he may have been, he appeared 
shortly after perfect in Prince Albert, boutonniere and 
eyeglass. He was the sort of Briton born with a glass 
in his eye, just as many Americans come into this world 
with gold spoons in their mouths, only that the Eng- 
lishman seems to wear his birthright through life with 
far greater ease and comfort. Captain Peddington’s 
was attached by neither cord nor string; it just stuck 
into his eye and stayed there with tantalizing disregard 
of the law of gravitation. I had seen his sister at their 
place in Sussex flying about the links with a glass 
pasted into her eye in precisely the same way; it was 


64 


PLAYING THE GAME 


rather like a mark of identification extending through- 
out the family. 

Billy, whose face was not quite so well trained as 
the Britisher’s, looked bored and decidedly disappoint- 
ed when Captain Peddington and I loomed up large 
on the horizon. We were, however, sweetly uncon- 
scious of the fact that we were de trop. All four of us 
squeezed into Billy’s landaulet, which was obviously 
built for two, and we took a turn in the park before 
dropping off at the St. Regis. 

The palm room was just about half filled when we 
arrived, and we found a table with a beautiful view 
of every one coming in and going out. Evelyn Tag- 
hern-Steward sailed in, her Parisian banker still in tow, 
and Perry Willing, who passed us on his way to join 
Mrs. Hal Brakeman, stopped long enough to remark 
that ‘"Taggy-Stew” had evidently found a new banker, 
judging by her increase in sables and chinchilla. 

Janetta Miles came in with Mrs. Algy Trane, a 
‘^young matron,” long and lanky as a Shanghai, but 
who ranked in the newspapers as a beauty and fancy 
dancer and was neither. Janetta was known among in- 
timates as ‘7ason,” because she was frankly in search 


GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 


65 


of a golden fleece. She didn’t look in need of one that 
day. Her interesting dull gold hair was surmounted 
by a hat all black willow plumes, and her gown of 
sapphire-blue velvet might have graced the wardrobe 
of a queen. But every one knew, and Jason knew every 
one knew, that the house of Madam Otillie, near Madi- 
son Avenue, that looked more like a private residence 
than a dressmaking establishment, found Janetta Miles 
its best-paying advertisement. They were joined pres- 
ently by Everett Bingham, an old bachelor and new 
eligible — ^he had recently been on the “right side” of 
the street on several auspicious occasions — and his 
devotion to “Jason” might have indicated that her 
search was to be rewarded. 

I had been pointing out to Captain Peddington some 
of the season’s budding beauties when suddenly Nella 
stopped Billy in the middle of a eulogy on her appear- 
ance. “Just a minute, my dear boy,” she said indiffer- 
ently, “and then you can go on. Gypsy,” she leaned 
across the table and her eyes tried to tell me multitudes, 
“who do you think has just come in ? Careful ” 

But I had glimpsed Baron de Berenzig at the mo- 
ment he caught sight of me, and an ardent carmine 


66 PLAYING THE GAME 

that mounted straight to my head must have implied 
only one thing. I wished then and there that I might 
have had Evelyn Taghern-Ste ward’s applied complex- 
ion to protect me. 

Nella looked at me warningly, and a moment later 
I was permitting Baron de Berenzig to bend over my 
hand, quite as if his coming had caused me no emo- 
tion other than passing surprise, though the color 
had not yet ebbed from my cheeks and I was chok- 
ing an insane desire to ask after Madam la Baronne. 
I wondered at the man’s aplomp in returning to New 
York after his deception of the year before. 

Billy invited him to join us, much to my inward 
discomfort and outward indifference, and he at once 
found a place between Captain Peddington and my- 
self, precisely as if his had been the prior right. I 
could feel the stir of interest at the adjoining tables, 
and knew that gossip was on the wing to busy itself 
again with our names. Nella’s casual questions elicited 
the information that he had landed only the day before 
and was staying temporarily at the St. Regis ; likewise 
that he had spent the summer abroad and had been 
disappointed not to meet us all in Carlsbad. He in- 


GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 67 

tended wintering in town, he said, with a visit to Palm 
Beach toward the middle of February, and at this 
sent me a look of inquiry that made my cheeks fly a 
danger flag again. 

Nella must have felt my misery, for she made a 
move to leave long, I knew, before she wanted to be 
left alone to Billy’s tender mercies. Billy carelessly 
asked the baron to come with us — so long as he couldn’t 
have ’Nella quite to himself it didn’t matter how many 
there were in the party — and I was in dread lest his 
invitation be accepted. But Baron de Berenzig had to 
kave his card at any number of houses, and so declined 
with intense regret. 

I discovered later that ours had been one of the 
houses on his list, though his call had been for my 
mother alone. They had met just as she was coming in 
from her drive, and though I asked no questions, his 
visit, judging from the manner in which the informa- 
tion was imparted to me, had not been unwelcome. 

It was to be ‘‘Boheme” that night at the opera, and 
I looked to the music as balm to counteract the effect 
of a trying afternoon. I wished more than once that 
I had gone for that canter with my calm Englishman, 


68 


PLAYING THE GAME 


who, whatever his lack of invigorating qualities, would 
at least have kept my nerves in a state of preservation. 

Mr. and Mrs. Jack Obrien — the former’s father, 
John O’Brien, had been one of the earliest and luckiest 
of the forty-niners — ^were my mother’s guests, and 
Fritzy Bigelow, who could be depended upon not to 
bore one with unnecessary conversation. 

We arrived unusually early, and I had an opportu- 
nity to look about before the curtain arose. The Hal 
Brakemans, in a box opposite ours, had with them 
something new in the way of a tall beauty, destined to 
rank as an expert in evading creditors and attaching 
men. Mrs. Hal, having heard, no doubt, of the vogue 
of Dolly Brooke, had discovered the fair unknown, a 
Mrs. Richard Stannard, in Narragansett and hoped 
to make her beauty a means of penetrating the charmed 
circle that still remained closed to her. 

Piquant Nita Lane was seated, as usual, with her 
back deliberately turned, and the only indication one 
had of a gown were the black velvet shoulder straps 
that must have been attached to something. With her 
was big, stolid, stodgy husband number two, and in a 
box but three removed sat husband number one, who. 


GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 


69 


when their divorce was a thing accomplished, had paid 
her a quiet million to relinquish all claims to their 
child. 

Each occupied box as I glanced around seemed to 
hold some “Jack” in it ready to spring daringly at 
you, with none of the modesty of the old-fashioned 
family skeleton, that at least had shame enough to 
hide itself in the closet. 

Less than a year ago all this would have slipped by 
me unnoticed — I wouldn’t have known or thought 
about it. And now it was harder somehow to believe 
myself made for this world that was my sphere than 
to picture well-fed Caruso and buxom Melba the starv- 
ing artist and model of the scene before me. 

When the house had darkened and everything but 
the red-shaded lights of the boxes was resolved into 
gloom I heard my mother rise to greet some newcomer, 
and, turning, saw her in the light of the anteroom 
extending her hand to Baron de Berenzig. For a 
moment I felt I must be the victim of some optical il- 
lusion; it seemed a play on her part too ridiculously 
unnecessary. To have as her guest at the opening of 
a new season the man who the year before had de- 


70 


PLAYING THE GAME 


liberately humiliated her daughter, and therefore her- 
self, was carrying diplomacy to the point of absurdity. 
I had to add my welcome to hers, and the baron took 
the chair directly back of mine. 

I tried hard to listen to the music, but the singing 
in my ears drowned the voices of those on the stage. 
I closed my eyes hopelessly and wondered where this 
whirlpool in which I was impotent as a pebble would 
choose to carry me. 

My intense cordiality to those who visited us be- 
tween the acts must have revealed my distress of mind. 
I know I never longed so for a crowd about me. When 
we left the opera house I was quite prepared for my 
mother’s invitation to the baron to join us on our way 
uptown. The Jack Obriens were taking Fritzy with 
them, and we were all to meet at a supper and dance 
at Mrs. Steve Craig’s. 

What I did not anticipate, however, was the sudden 
headache my mother developed as we neared our home. 
I thought it a splendid opportunity to stop off with 
her, but she protested as Haines helped her out of the 
motor that the pain would be gone after a few mo- 
ments’ rest. 


GYPSY’S MOTHER MANEUVERS 


71 


*‘You may send the car back for me at once, my 
dear,’’ she said, and before I knew it the door was 
slammed and Baron de Berenzig and I were on our 
way up the avenue. 

I had given up trying to analyze my mother’s ma- 
neuvers ; her plans of campaign were always too com- 
plicated. But I knew this time I had been chosen as 
a means to gain whatever ends she had in view. Two 
things I noticed simultaneously — first, that the car was 
not going at its usual rate of speed, and, second, the 
smile of satisfaction that illumined the baron’s face. 

^Traiilein,” he said, after a silence I had determined 
not to break, “this is why I have come back to 
America.” 

“This,” I questioned with a light laugh of disbelief, 
“a ride in a motor brougham? My dear baron, you 
surprise me.” 

“You purposely misunderstand.” He frowned. 
Then: “It is for you — ^to be with you — I have come 
back, my beautiful little American.” 

He leaned closer and I shrank far into my corner. 
But I could feel my eyes and cheeks blazing. 

“Baron de Berenzig,” I turned and met his look 


PLAYING THE GAME 


T2 

squarely, 'long ago I wanted to be honest and tell 
you frankly what I thought — what I still think — of 
your outrageous behavior of last winter. Circum- 
stances over which I seem to have no control pre- 
vented my doing so. But now you leave me no alterna- 
tive. I don’t know just what sort of code of morality 
your country recognizes, but here your impertinence 
in forcing your attentions on me when you already 
happen to have a wife in Europe is nothing short of 
criminal.” 

The baron was not in the least perturbed. He looked 
at me with ardor, distinctly Hungarian, lighting his 
eyes. "So that is it? My lovely one, 'nous avons 
change tout cela/ ” he laughed, catching my hand in 
both of his. "Why do you suppose I went abroad? 
Why have I returned? Why — ^because I have suc- 
ceeded in divorcing my wife !” 

The car rolled under the porte-cochere just then and 
Perry Willing, who had . stepped out of his cab and 
stood within the doorway, caught a satisfying glimpse 
of the baron leaning over me, my hand clasped in his. 

What he did not see — though I prayed he might — 
were the rage and disgust that held me trembling, too 
choked to utter the words that came to my lips. 


CHAPTER V 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 

The night of the baron’s declaration was one of the 
rare occasions when I looked forward impatiently to 
an interview with my mother. I felt it was sure to be 
illuminating, if not a revelation. All through the eve- 
ning — after that terrible moment in the motor — I had 
assiduously avoided Baron de Berenzig, not alone be- 
cause I couldn’t bear the thought of being with him, but 
to contradict whatever stories Perry Willing’s ready 
tongue would not fail to circulate. I knew he had been 
a witness of the scene, and was in mortal fear of his 
misinterpretation of it. 

‘"Mother,” I managed to whisper, as we were being 
helped into our wraps, “don’t ask the baron to come 
with us.” 

She raised her eyebrows, adjusting an expresion of 
mild surprise. 


73 


74 


PLAYING THE GAME 


you do,” I added desperately, 'T’ll refuse to ride 
with him. I’ll ask Nella to take me home.” 

‘'And make a scene?” inquired my mother, con- 
temptuously. “You’ve hardly come to so sorry a pass, 
my dear.” 

I turned away, miserably conscious that she was 
right; that I should never have the courage to fling 
myself thus openly before the juggernaut of gossip. 
But I might have been happier braving the wheels 
of the monster then and there than to subject myself, 
as I did, to all that followed. 

Baron de Berenzig joined us, as a matter of course, 
as we stepped from the little electric elevator, and at 
once bent over my mother’s hand, expressing his pleas- 
ure that her slight indisposition of the early evening 
had not prevented her attendance. It seemed to me 
he must have had an opportunity to do that before the 
moment of departure, but from my mother’s greeting 
they appeared not to have met before. 

I shrank from his touch as he helped me into the 
car, yet my mother made a place for him beside her 
with an “Of course, you’re coming with us,” and 
smiled invitingly. 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


75 


He stepped in and I turned, staring out into the 
night, my lips set hard to control the tears that threat- 
ened to deluge me. When we reached home I went 
straight to my room and gave them their way, deter- 
mined at least that my mother should not know of my 
weakness. I had not spoken a word on the way, and 
had felt the wrath gathering under her cool brow at my 
hasty “good night.'’ I knew I must meet her on her 
own ground, and of one thing I was firmly convinced, 
my rage was quite equal to hers. 

My sympathetic little maid helped me into a dress- 
ing-gown, patting my shoulder meanwhile and plead- 
ing that she be allowed to bathe my head in eau de 
cologne. But I told her she need not wait up for 
me — I was quite prepared to spend the remainder of 
the hours until breakfast in my mother’s boudoir. 

I received no answer to my knock, and when I en- 
tered found the room vacant, though the logs flaming 
under the marble mantel and the big chair pulled close 
to the grate indicated that an occupant was expected. 

I had intended entering the field of battle with my 
mother’s own weapons at hand — coolness and exquisite 
sarcasm. But as I paced up and down while the clock 


76 


PLAYING THE GAME 


ticked away long moments that seemed drawn out ex- 
pressly to tantalize me I reviewed her part in the affair, 
and by the time the swish of her gown announced her 
coming I was keyed up to my natural inclination to go 
straight to the point with neither stratagem nor subter- 
fuge. 

I faced her with eyes blazing the wrath I had been 
strangling all evening. 

‘Tf any one had told me,"’ I cried, ‘^that you would 
deliberately plot to subject me to the insults of a 
scoundrel I should have branded it a lie. It seems 
a role too impossible even for the most unnatural 
mother to play.” 

My mother’s brow remained unwrinkled, but her 
eyes narrowed. She settled into a chair and drew a 
scarf about her shoulders. “I am not 'playing a role,’ 
as you seem inclined to do on every possible occasion,” 
she answered calmly. 'T neither revel in tragics, nor 
am I at home acting the fool. I leave both of these 
to my daughter.” 

I sat down on the very edge of the divan, leaning 
forward. "Well, she has finished playing the fool,” 
I flung out, "once for all. That’s what I’ve come to 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 77 

tell you. I refuse to be either a puppet or a pawn in 
whatever game you and Baron de Berenzig seem to 
have planned.” 

''So now it’s a game. Really, my dear child,” my 
mother shrugged, "your metaphors of the street are 
confusing, not to say disagreeable. Suppose we deal 
in facts instead of figures.” 

I rose and began pacing the room again. "Suppose 
we do,” I agreed, stopping before my mother’s chair. 
"Well, then, I know that you purposely invited the 
baron to join us this evening, that your headache was 
a ruse to leave us alone, and that in spite of the haz- 
ardous position in which he might have placed us both 
last winter you have made yourself a party to his 
designs, whatever they may be.” 

"Do you mean to say ” A look of real astonish- 

ment sped across my mother’s face. "Didn’t he tell 
you he had divorced his wife?” 

"Quite so! And that now there was no encum- 
brance in the way of his marrying me. He ought to 
be living in Utah or the Orient — it would be more 
convenient for him. As if I were a thing, a creature 
of neither brains, soul nor backbone 1” 


78 


PLAYING THE GAME 


‘'Which is just what you are proving yourself to 
be/' my mother roused herself. “Any one who shows 
herself as incapacitated as you did to-night — as you 
are doing now — must not be left alone to make an idiot 
and laughing-stock of herself. Last year you would 
have welcomed the chance to marry Baron de Beren- 
zig " 

“And this year/’ I interrupted hotly, “there is no 
human being more distasteful to me.” 

“Simply because he pays you the compliment of 
divorcing his wife. Really, I don’t know what you 
want. You’re not worthy of him.” 

“I’ll tell you this,” I blazed forth. “I don’t want a 
trickster with an adjustable cloak of morals nor a 
male thing in the latest cut of trousers. And I don’t 
intend to have either or a combination of both thrust 
upon me. For months I’ve been trying to adapt my- 
self to a code of honor that seems to be principally a 
lack of it. I’ve done my best to be untrue to myself 
and to everybody else — and I’ve been miserable. There 
may be something radically wrong — or radically right 
— with me. But I shan’t give myself to a marriage of 
convenience or inconvenience, nor will I submit to 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 79 

persecution at the hands of a reprobate, even though 
my own mother’s point of view permits her to con- 
stitute herself his chief ally ” 

‘‘You know my intention !” My mother’s eyes were 
steel against the flint of mine, and I knew by the sparks 
flashing from them that it was to be war between us, 
with no hope of arbitration. “I shall do everything in 
my power to further this affair — ^as I promised Baron 
de Berenzig this afternoon. It is the best thing in the 
world that could happen to you — any one with a sug- 
gestion of sense would realize it. We shall see who is 
the stronger. There will be more than one story of 
an engagement, and I don’t mind informing you that 
many of them will emanate from me. You may deny 
them if you wish — ^you know very well that will be 
fuel to the flame. You will be flung constantly to- 
gether, and I haven’t a doubt he can prove himself 
quite as fascinating now that he is free as he was a 
year ago when he had a wife of whom you knew 
nothing. Really, in spite of the ‘perverted principles’ 
with which you see fit to credit me I fail to understand 
or appreciate all this vulgar fuss.” 

“What you evidently fail to understand,” was my 


80 PLAYING THE GAME 

final shot, for I felt that tears were imminent, ‘*is that 
I’ve a sense of justice that can rebel and a heart that 
doesn’t seem to have been left out of my make-up. 
What I can’t understand,” I added, turning in the 
doorway, ‘hs why children are brought into the world 
if parents have no other plan than to make them suf- 
fer.” 

My mother rose with a bored air of dismissal. “It 
is rather too late for a talk on either sociology or psy- 
chology. To-morrow if you choose ” 

“To-morrow — I shall be quite prepared to stand 
alone,” I burst out. “It seems the only course left to 
me. 

Nevertheless, in spite of my defiance, I was desper- 
ately afraid of the power my mother held. I knew she 
would have her plan of warfare completely mapped 
out, and couldn’t help but realize that I should experi- 
ence some difficulty attempting to cope with it. I was 
ready, however, to use extreme measures if necessary 
to circumvent her. The battle between a new recruit 
and an old campaigner was bound to be unequal, but 
I studied some of her methods of the past and arranged 
my moves accordingly. First of all, I apparently ceased 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


81 


all actual combat and waited patiently until the beat of 
the drum should call me to arms. 

I heard its rumble the night of a dinner party to 
a select few given by my mother, when I was flung 
upon Baron de Berenzig’s arm with the obvious in- 
tention of being kept there all evening. For three long 
hours I was inwardly at white heat and outwardly cool, 
while the baron seized his opportunity to bend over 
me with an intimate little air of tenderness that caused 
an expectant murmur to float about the table. I did not 
fail to notice that my mother’s guests were all of the 
type calculated to carry news with remarkable rapidity 
and was by no means unprepared for the stealthy arm 
that slid through mine directly the signal was given that 
relieved me for a time of my Nemesis. 

^'Felicitations,” breathed Evelyn Taghern-Steward 
into my attentive ear. "I have been looking forward 
to this for aeons, my dear.” 

"I didn’t know the cards had been out that long,” 
I remarked innocently. "Besides, it’s just an ordinary, 
indifferent sort of a dinner party, with nothing ex- 
citing but bridge to happen afterward. I do hope 
you’ve brought a purse as generous as your heart.” 


82 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Evelyn wrapped her long black train about her feet 
as she sank into a chair and looked at me through 
her long, black — extraordinarily black — lashes. ‘‘Me- 
chante!’’ she trilled, with an accent that must have 
caused her Parisian banker to capitulate completely. 
^‘You know what I mean. Is it to be in church or 
at home — and when? There’s always such a dis- 
gusting lot of difficulty about arranging these foreign 
affairs.” 

‘Toreign affairs do not in the least concern me,” 
and I felt my eyes flash in spite of myself. “It seems 
to me you always pay more for them than they’re 
worth and then you don’t even get the interest on your 
money.” 

Evelyn’s eyes gave a sidewise glint. “Oh, then the 
picturesque little tableau Perry witnessed, in a motor 
outside the Steve Craigs’, represented voluntary con- 
tribution on your part without any hope of returns?” 

“What tableau ?” I asked, with a play of puzzled in- 
difference. “One meets them in every nook and cor- 
ner.” 

“Quite right!” Evelyn raised her liqueur glass, 
twirling it meditatively until the insidious, oily green 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 83 

within glinted like her eyes. ‘^And this one was in the 
extreme corner of a motor brougham calculated to be 
well out of range of prying eyes. There were, I be- 
lieve, a man and a girl — — ’’ 

“What an extraordinary combination!” I ejaculated. 
“Of course that must mean a proposal. But was the 
man accepted? Why didn't the prying eyes wait to 
see? I've known people to break up a home before 
there was even a sign of the walls caving in.” 

“Methinks,” sighed Evelyn, moistening the tip of 
her tongue with the liqueur, “methinks the lady doth 
protest too much.” 

“She protests,” I flashed indignantly, forgetting that 
I had pledged myself to the strategies of war, “against 
being unceremoniously pushed into a man's arms.” 

“She seemed willing enough to stay there,” Evelyn 
addressed herself to the liqueur glass, “that night in 
the motor.” 

Ah — so I had been right! I had known that if 
Perry Willing caught only a glimpse of me during the 
moment the baron held my rebellious hand in his I 
should by the time the story had gone the final rounds 
be clasped in the baron's arms, and it wouldn't have 


84 


PLAYING THE GAME 


surprised me in the least if he, had been seen kissing 
me. Fortunately, it appeared that I had merely ended 
in his arms, with no further embellishments. 

wish, my dear,” I said, assuming a composure I 
was far from feeling, ‘^you’d give me a verbal diagram 
of the juxtaposition. You see, knowing nothing of 
the affair and having apparently been one of the prin- 
cipal actors, it may be well for me to be posted on 
details.” 

‘Terhaps,” Evelyn looked up daringly as the baron 
approached, '‘Dr. de Berenzig will undertake to give 
us an illustration. I was telling our little Gypsy here,” 
she supplied, glancing up at him through her lashes, 
"of a charming picture framed in a motor car the night 
of the Steve Craig party.” 

"Ah!” The baron sent a tender smile in my direc- 
tion. "A picture not meant for the eyes of the world, 
perhaps. I know of many such. Think of the numbers 
locked in churches and convents, hidden behind altars, 
sacrificed to religion and lost to those who could so well 
have enjoyed them.” 

"This one should have been destroyed before it was 
made,” I could feel my voice shaking, "and I shall do 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 85 

my best now to repair the neglect. It is not too late, I 
am sure.” 

And then I made the most idiotic, or I should say 
one of the most idiotic, moves of my limited career. I 
motioned to Carley Deane, who was coming toward 
us, and reminded him and myself of some old sporting 
prints Fd promised to show him, bought recently at 
auction by my brother Dick. 

‘They’re in the library,” I said, rising. “I know, 
Evelyn, you’ll pardon me and let Dr. de Berenzig take 
care of you for a while.” 

I flattered myself as I trailed out that the eyes of 
the entire room had seen me abruptly leave a moment 
after the baron joined us, but I forgot one thing, that 
I was leaving him alone with Evelyn Taghern-Steward, 
and that he was quite as clever as I, if not more so. 

When we reached the library I sank into a huge 
armchair, my head flung back against its broad, warm 
expanse, and closed my eyes. “Carley,” I managed to 
breathe, “don’t talk to me for three whole minutes. 
Tf you do, I shall — cry.” 

The dear boy turned away sympathetically. For a 
time there was a blessed silence while I prayed for 


86 


PLAYING THE GAME 


courage to face the cannon and carry on the fight as 
begun. I felt sure that my mother, too, had been given 
an embellished description of that moment in the motor 
and that it would prove an added weapon in her hands. 

^'Carley,'' I blurted at last, opening my eyes to see 
him in a far corner of the room, his face turned from 
me, busily lighting a cigarette, “you’re known as a 
‘good fellow’ and I’ve always tried to be one. Are 
you willing to take a ‘sporting chance’ for me? I’ve 
got to take a fighting one.” 

“My dear little girl,” he said, flinging away the ciga- 
rette in his hand, and then proceeding to light another 
as he came toward me. “What’s the mess ? I’ve never 
seen you so upset.” 

“That’s part of the sporting chance, Carley,” I 
said; “you mustn’t ask questions. You must just come 
into this thing blindly, as if — as if you were betting on 
a horse that wasn’t a favorite.” 

“Then I can’t bet on you,” he laughed, “ ’cause you 
are one.” 

“I want to play at being one — yours !” I exploded, 
taking my courage in both hands and holding it tight. 
“I want you to play at being my devoted — to save my 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


87 


life. It will be just for a few months, and then only 
in company,'’ I added hastily. 

‘Where’s the fun,” Carley asked with a disappointed 
air, “if it’s hot to be all the time?” 

“Please,” I pleaded, “it’s not a laughing matter. 
I’m serious — I must be — and I’m asking you to do this 
for me because I’m desperate. I’ve had to turn to some 
one, and you seemed ” 

Carley stretched out his wiry hand and caught mine 
in a tingling grip. “Done !” he exclaimed. “And don’t 
let’s talk any more about it. Let’s act and I’ll show 
you what a good sport I can be. Now, how about those 
prints ?” 

I rose and was bending over a portfolio, Carley at 
my side, when my mother made her appearance, lean- 
ing confidentially on the arm of Baron de Berenzig. 

“Ah, here you are !” she announced. “We need you 
at bridge, Carleton,” and her eyes shot me a signal of 
triumph. “Dr. de Berenzig, you know, doesn’t play, 
so I’ve brought him to take your place here.” 

I knew that the year before the baron had played. 
That fact, combined with the gleam in my mother’s 
eye, spurred me to combat. 


88 


PLAYING THE GAME 


‘T may as well come, too” I proclaimed; ^'you’ll 
probably need me/^ 

“So sorry, dear, but the tables are all made up.” 
And my mother had swept Carley out with her be- 
fore either of us had a chance to protest. 

I dropped into my chair again. It was just as well 
that my inevitable interview with the baron be over as 
soon as possible. He leaned back against the library 
table, studying me leisurely in that discomforting for- 
eign way, that may be interpreted as meaning almost 
anything — or everything. When his eyes finally 
reached the rose in my hair he bent down closer, closer, 
and of a sudden caught up my hand that rested on the 
arm of the chair. 

“Most beautiful one!” he breathed into my ear. 

I snatched away my hand. 

“I do not care for a repetition of the scene in the 
motor, Baron de Berenzig, whatever may be its ad- 
vantage to you. You seem intent upon forcing me into 
a position ” 

“There is but one position it is my intention to have 
you assume, and you know what that is,” he inter- 
rupted. 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


89 


‘‘The same in which you intended to place me last 
winter?’’ I flung at him. 

“Quite the same, dear little lady, that of my — wife.” 
He lingered tenderly on the word. “I wanted you for 
that, though you will not yet recognize it, from the 
first moment.” 

“Just a little bit more, in fact, than you wanted the 
wife with whom you were already burdened,” I put in. 
“What an exquisite sense of responsibility ! And may 
I ask whether you decided at once to push her gently 
to one side in my favor ?” 

“Helas,” sighed the baron. “I am never practical. 
I never did think of anything, or of any one — ^but you — 
until the countess made me know my false posi- 
tion ” 

“Yours!” I exclaimed. “I don’t suppose mine was 
of any consequence?” 

“Your charming mother spoke only of my injustice 
to myself,” he smiled reminiscently, “when she and 
I considered the advisability of a divorce before I went 
away last spring.” 

“My mother and you !” I sat erect, intent, scarcely 
believing I could have heard aright. “Considered ” 


90 


PLAYING THE GAME 


The enormity of my undertaking in pitting myself 
against a woman as resourceful as my mother flashed 
suddenly upon me. “Do you mean — do you dare to 
tell me that my mother knew of this disgraceful plan 
of yours ?” 

“Dear lady of mine, would it not have been a far 
greater disgrace to remain the husband of another when 
it was you I loved, you I desired — more than life?” 

He was behind my chair and had drawn my rigid 
figure against its back before I could resist. His fin- 
gers seared me like fire and I struggled to free myself. 
“Can you not understand what it is to love as I love 
you?” his head was bent over mine and his breath on 
my face stifled me. I wanted to shriek, to cry out for 
relief. “What does the world — what does life itself 
matter — when every thought, every breath, every burn- 
ing fiber of you ” 

“Baron de Berenzig,” I interrupted, half strangling 
myself to utter the words calmly, “I am not interested 
in a minute account of the processes of your emotions. 
Will you kindly release me ” 

“I shall not (his grip on my shoulders tightened) 
until you hear me. Last winter you would have lis- 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 91 

tened. You would have loved me as I desired. Your 
mother admitted to me your tears, your heart-break 

when you discovered I was already married ” I 

remembered that first interview with my mother and 
the tears of chagrin I had shed with no thought of the 
baron as either a man or lover, and rage at the injus- 
tice of it all again choked me. ^‘It was for that I went 
abroad,’' he went on, “for that I divorced the woman 
for whom I had long since ceased to care, who no 
longer understood or sympathized with me ” 

“Who is to be congratulated,” I interpolated, “as the 
one gainer in this affair.” 

But he continued, unheeding. “Do you suppose that 
now I mean to release you — ^to sacrifice my love?” 

“You desecrate the name!” I cried. “If I were to 
consent to marry you now, provided you would waive 
the million or two of dowry necessary. I’ve no doubt, 
to repair that impractical bent you deplore, how would 
you receive me?” 

“With arms wide open,” he whispered, his lips al- 
most touching my ear, “then closed to hold you tight, 
tight!” 


92 


PLAYING THE GAME 


prisoner against my will — as you have me now 
— to be released when ransom had been paid?’’ 

“You choose to laugh/’ He came around in front 
of me and I sighed with relief, shrugging my shoulders 
to rid them of the impress of his contact. “Quite so ! 
We shall see then !” 

I had looked up, intending to defy him, but mockery 
dropped from me as I found myself gazing into a face 
that had lost all ease of contour and with its sharp 
cheekbones and high-bridged nose had taken on the look 
of a satyr. 

“A year ago,” he rushed on, “you were willing to 
accept my love, and I was a married man. How do 
you think the world would look upon that? Do you 
think, perhaps, it would believe you were unaware of 
the fact? That is not the world — ^y ours or mine. No, 
it will choose rather to accept the interpretation I mean 
to give it — that you knew I was not free, yet accepted 
my devotion, permitted your name to be linked with 
mine, and that with me it was just an amusing game — 
a play. Brand yourself so, if you will, but I warn you 
the mark will burn deep and you shall suffer.” 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


95 


I started to my feet, though I felt like a dead thing, 
unable to stand upon them. ^‘You couldn’t !” I cried. 

‘T could not ?” He peered into my face. “You know 
only your American love — flat, colorless as water. I 
shall show you what love means to my blood. Give 
your life to me, and in return you shall have happiness. 
No one but ourselves need ever know of the wife who 
is dead to me, who never existed for the world on this 
side of the ocean. Yet if you refuse it is entirely possi- 
ble that your friends may become aware of her exist- 
ence. You will know what they will say.” And then 
a delicate shrug and a smile that spoke volumes. 

I sank back into my chair, shuddering. I knew how 
right he was, and my blood went icy at thought of 
what his suggestion meant. I might have been a rabbit 
caught in the coils of a boa constrictor — it didn’t mat- 
ter much whether the latter represented the world or 
the baron, I was bound, it seemed, to be crushed either 
way. Yet I struggled to laugh through the tears that 
drowned my voice, remembering my resolution to ex- 
haust all the strategies of war before surrendering. I 
had not known when I planned it all how terribly diffi- 
cult it was going to be. 


94 


PLAYING THE GAME 


‘*If you really — ^loved me, as you say — ^you do,” I 
succeeded in gasping at last, “you would try to win me, 
not frighten me into accepting you. American girls 
are not like the foreign — they cannot be subjugated by 
threats. Whatever my summing up of you and your 
deception last winter, I had at least judged you a gen- 
tleman, not a coward.” 

My thrust told. He came to my side and leaned over 
me, his voice softened somewhat. “Then you will give 
me the opportunity to try? It is all I ask — for the 
present.” 

Trembling — and fearful — I thought it best to submit 
to temporary arbitration. I met his eye, a poor effort 
at challenge in my own, yet even then the man re- 
pelled me. 

“Provided you do not attempt to seize it too openly, 
as you have to-night,” I warned. “I will not be co- 
erced. I would — I would fight first to the last drop of 
blood in me.” 

I rose, though I had to surreptitiously grasp the 
chair to steady myself, and, drawing up, measured him 
as he had me. 


THE SPORTING CHANCE 


95 


The baron’s eyes shone. “It is so I love you best !” 
he exclaimed. 

But I felt that in one moment more my poise would 
collapse on its weak foundation, and I dreaded re- 
vealing the fear that held me. 

“I rather think,” I suggested, “we have stayed away 
from the others quite long enough. Will you take me 
back to them ?” 


CHAPTER VI 


DICK TAKES A HAND 

‘TVe often felt/’ observed Nella, stretching out her 
hand for a gold cigarette case on the reading-table at 
her side, '‘that having the amount of family Fve been 
blessed with might be looked upon as an embarrass- 
ment of riches. But after all you’ve told me, Gypsy 
mine. I’m coming to think it something of a conven- 
ience.” 

I had pulled Nella abruptly into the reality of my 
woes out of a much coveted realm of dreams and she 
had listened to my story with rare sympathy, consider- 
ing the early hour and the short space of rest she had 
enjoyed. 

“There’s father Penning,” she went on, drawing a 
cigarette lightly through her long, sensitive fingers, 
“who wouldn’t care particularly whether I married one 
baron or a dozen, so long as he didn’t have to supply 

the necessary dowries. My own mother would never 
9G 


DICK TAKES A HAND 97 

urge such a parti, because these international knots are 
such a nuisance to untie. In fact, she wouldn’t trouble 
herself to urge anything — her own affairs are of so 
much more importance — though it is a continuous puz- 
zle to her why I don’t marry Billy until I find some one 
I like better.” She paused to light her cigarette, and 
a delicate wave of mist rose, softening the tired lines 
around her eyes and mouth. “To Mrs. Haywood I’m 
an unknown quantity; it doesn’t concern her whether 
I’m reperesented by one or a union of two. As for 
my own Daddy Haywood, dear man, I think he’d be 
much more interested in seeing Mrs. Dolly carry off 
the catch of the season. He’s always bothering me to 
tell him who is her latest — heighho, Gypsy,” She raised 
her arms above her head, but quickly dropped them 
again. “There isn’t any one who cares much, and I — 
I’m beginning to care less.” 

She turned on her pillow, her face from me, and I 
choked a little. In spite of the light laugh of her voice 
there was no mistaking the bitterness in it. With two 
sets of parents to turn to Nella had always been so 
hopelessly alone. 

“Look here, old girl,’^ I tried to laugh, “I came over 


98 PLAYING THE GAME 

here in a deep azure mood, and you’re doing your best 
to make it a deep indigo. Haven’t you me? — and I 
care. What do you suppose I’d do if you were to 
marry just because you rather liked the idea of changing 
your name again ?” 

'Tt might get to be too much of a habit in the family, 
eh? Well,” she slipped her arms into a pale-blue em- 
broidered kimono her maid had brought, and sat up, 
propping herself against the uncertain support of a 
mass of lingerie pillows, “there’s little enough variety 
to make life interesting; why not try it in husbands?” 

“I think I’ll arrange to have you take Baron de 
Berenzig off my hands,” I chaffed; “you two seem to 
have ideas that would cinveniently match.” 

“Try Dolly,” Nella advised, her eyes twinkling now 
through the smoke that sent up a veil between us. 
“Scalping is her long suit. I’ve got her here with me 
now — dragged her over yesterday, when father and 
mother Penning left on a sudden impulse for Lenox. 
I rather think the impulse was Colonel Griswold’s. 
He decided he needed a change and persuaded mother 
that she did, too, and then father Penning came to the 
conclusion that if any changes were to be made he’d 


DICK TAICES A HAND 


99 


best be on hand to see that they weren’t too radical. 
So they’ve gone off together, all three, and I’ve made 
Dolly desert her apartments to keep things lively for 
me. 

''It suits my convenience just at present to persuade 
her that it’s putting her head into the lion’s mouth to 
live alone, as she does, with only a housekeeper to take 
care of her. I’m surprised people haven’t asked ques- 
tions long ago — it’s such splendid opportunity for scan- 
dal.” Nella rang for her maid and sent word to Mrs. 
Dolly to join us. "Though, after all,” she added, 
"Dolly’s so satisfying in herself that nobody demands 
to know anything more about her. She’s like cham- 
pagne — who cares where the bubbles come from so long 
as they make us forget our troubles ?” She reached as 
she finished for another cigarette, and I noticed that 
her slim hand shook a little. 

"Nella, girl,” I said anxiously, leaning over her, "I 
wish you wouldn’t smoke so much; you never used to.” 

Nella frowned. "I can’t help it, Gypsy. It’s the 
only thing that holds my nerves together; they’re get- 
ting to be as uncertain as fate. It pulls taut the wires 
that keep me dancing. I’d fall to pieces without it.” 


100 


PLAYING THE GAME 


‘Whew!” I remonstrated. ‘TVe woes enough to 
send me to stimulants to keep me awake and drugs to 
put me to sleep (Nella looked hastily away from me) 
yet all I’m going to resort to is a good straight fight.” 

“I’d give anything to have something worth fighting 
for.” Nella’s eyes met mine again. “It would help 
me — but there!” She crushed the fire from her ciga- 
rette and let it drop on the tray. “I’m not partial to 
black eyes when they’re angry, and I’m not going to 
give you one thing more to worry about.” She reached 
up and drew my face down close to hers. “It’s only an 
outline — life — after all,” she laughed, “and we can fill 
it in most any way we desire. I represent the realistic 
school, Dolly the impressionistic and you the romantic 
— that’s why we’re such a delightful trio, I dare say.” 

And just then Dolly herself happened in. If there 
was any time when Dolly looked more wonderful than 
she did at all times it was that most trying time of 
all, between breakfast and noon. On this particular 
morning she had her strange hair, that in some lights 
looked silver and in others gold, massed carelessly on 
top of her head, and frolicsome little curls danced from 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


101 


it, keeping time to the sparkle of her eyes. A long 
silken velvet peignoir, amethyst, violet or lilac in tone 
as she moved, was swung about her, and the tips of 
a pair of gold-colored mules peeped from under it. She 
walked straight to the reading-table next to Nella’s bed, 
and her step was as wide awake as eternal youth. 

‘‘Do have one,’' she laughed, helping herself to a 
cigarette. Then, passing the case toward Nella : “One 
of your own. What ! None ?” as Nella pushed it away. 
She looked down at the tray. “And only two since 
breakfast! What has happened?” 

“Dolly,” Nella bestirred herself, “you’re a perpetual 
mockery! There you are, fresh as though you’d just 
bathed in the elixir of life, and Gypsy and I here alto- 
gether miserable. You must be sharp or hard as nails.” 

Dolly sent a thread as fine as a zephyr whirling and 
curling above her head. She smoked with the ease 
and grace of a foreign woman. “Do I seem to be 
either?” She smiled the question. “No, dear girl, I 
am this way because I permit nothing to make me 
miserable. That is the secret. I am quite willing to 
play the game of chance and to let the world know I 
am doing so — it is the spirit of the West — but to be 


102 


PLAYING THE GAME 


frightened or afraid of losing — pouf!” She snapped 
her white fingers. ‘'And now, Gypsy eyes, who’s the 
man ?” 

“Pd scarcely call him that! I matched my tone to 
hers and proceeded to tell her of the interview with 
Baron de Berenzig that had so racked me, but, how- 
ever my effort to treat it lightly, I ended more seri- 
ously than Fd begun. “And now he threatens me — 
think of it ! — threatens to publish abroad the vilest kind 
of insinuation,” I cried, springing up, “unless I agree 
to marry him. And with my mother on his side what 
chance have I ? Who would believe ” 

“Ah, you’re afraid !” Dolly flicked the ash from her 
cigarette with the topmost tip of her little finger and 
rubbed it into the Persian rug with the toe of her ex- 
pressive foot. “In dread of the world and what it will 
think — will say! My dear girl, laugh at the world, 
chuck it under the chin, tickle its nose, pull its ear, 
but never let it think you fear it! Doesn’t a bully al- 
ways beat the woman who quails before him? You’ve 
fooled this persistent baron of yours — and I must con- 
fess to a latent admiration for his daring — into believ- 
ing you have no fear of him. Go on with it. Fool — 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


103 


bluff the rest of us ! What does the world care who’s 
ahead in the game? It demands to be amused, that is 
all, and whether the laugh is at your expense or the 
baron’s ” 

"‘You know very well it prefers a thousand times to 
have a woman in the pillory — she shows her bruises so 
much more satisfactorily,” Nella put in, looking at us 
both through narrowed lids as she half lay, half leaned 
against her pillows. 

“But she must not show her bruises, dear,” Dolly’s 
eyes gleamed ; “that is the point. Don’t you know one 
inch of audacity will cover a yard of subtleties? If 
she’s sufficiently daring to walk to the very edge of the 
chasm, look down without losing her balance, then 
turn back with a smile, people will be too lost in admira- 
tion to think of pushing her over.” 

I looked at Dolly curiously, wonderingly. “What 
an astonishing theory! I shouldn’t like to put it into 
practice once too often. It might prove a dangerous 
game to play.” 

“Ah, but a fascinating one, my dear 1” Dolly raised 
her arms above her head with the same abandon with 
which she gave herself to dancing. Then suddenly 


104 


PLAYING THE GAME 


her eyes met mine, the sparkle died from them, her 
arms fell to her sides and she picked up a cigarette, 
intent for the moment upon lighting it. '^Well, and 
about the baron”; her voice changed to careless in- 
quiry. ‘‘What are you going to do?” 

“Introduce him to you, of course,” I laughed. “Fm 
going to try subtlety first, you see, before I fling my- 
self openly into the warpath. Prove your theory by 
winning him from me long enough to make people 
forget he ever thought of me, and I shan't mind in 
the least being jilted by him in your favor.” 

“Is he sufficiently exciting to make it worth while 
Dolly asked with mock concern. 

“Come and see,” I challenged. “Fve promised Mon- 
sieur Geraud an hour this afternoon on the portrait he 
commenced weeks ago, and mother’s going to stop for 
me when the sitting is over. She’ll bring Baron de 
Berenzig, of course — they’re always together these 
days. She’s even persuaded him to drop the modest 
title of last year and assume the dignity of his estate, 
and people are beginning to understand that it’s all in 
the interests of her daughter. Oh” — I appealed to 
Dolly despairingly — “there’s more than you realize 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


105 


to fight against, and I’ve got to marshal my 'forces 
for the battle of my life in spite of the fun you seem 
to see in it.” 

“Very well, general.” Dolly leaned forward, her 
eyes laughing into mine. “Then I’m to be first aid?” 

“Dolly, I’m disappointed in you,” Nella protested. 
“Don’t you know a woman’s first appeal is always to 
a man? You’re second in rank — Carley Deane is num- 
ber one.” 

“Ah !” Dolly looked surprised. “I didn’t know he 
and Gypsy ” 

“Not at all,” corrected Nella. “He’s merely volun- 
teered his services unquestioning. Better begin ma- 
neuvers, Gypsy, by having him there this afternoon.” 
She looked up at the Dresden clock on her mantel. 

“Come to Sherry’s with me now, both of you,” I 
suggested. “My appointment at the studio is at three, 
and we can go straight over ” 

“So sorry,” Dolly interrupted, “but I’ve a luncheon 
appointment I can’t possibly break. I’ll meet you later. 
Say where.” 

I looked at Nella with sudden inspiration. “Sup- 


106 


PLAYING THE GAME 


pose I telephone Dick and have him take us some- 
where downtown.” 

Nella sat up and an unexpected light sprang into 
her eyes. *‘Do!” she cried. 'That will help me cut 
the Powell-Knigh party and a crowd of debutantes to 
compare me to — unfavorably. And Dick — why, I’ve 
not seen him for years, it seems.” 

Whatever his plans may have been, Dick received 
my suggestion as though he’d been awaiting something 
of the sort. Nella and I met him at his office, after 
having dropped Dolly at a shop on our way down. He 
made us send away the motor, bundling us mysteriously 
into a cab, with Robert Stead to complete the quartet. 
Nella’s eyes were unusually bright as she asked where 
we were to be abducted. 

"Will you trust yourself to me?” asked my brother 
in return. 

"Providing you’ll show me a new road,” Nella an- 
swered, looking up at him quickly. 

"Well, then, no Sherry or Del. to-day,” he informed 
us. "I’m going to give you a taste of something you’ll 
not find anywhere else this side of Paris.” 


DICK TAKES A HAND 107 

‘Tood or people?” I inquired. ^‘Make it people if 
you can ; Fm tired of the other.” 

'‘Both. You see,” Robert Stead explained, seating 
himself beside me, “the host guarantees to satisfy any 
variety of taste or appetite and no questions asked. 
You'll find every class and country represented.” 

Our cab deposited its cargo at what appeared to be 
a high stoop brownstone house quite ordinary in ap- 
pearance. A name plate on the door proclaimed the 
identity of the proprietor, but the place might have 
been the establishment of a modiste — it differed not 
one whit from the recognized type. Once inside, how- 
ever, one walked into an atmosphere beside which the 
pseudo French section of New York, surrounded prin- 
cipally by dressmakers, was as water unto oil. From 
the waxed imperial of the maitre d'hotel to the alcoves, 
whose curtains rendered them cosy as nests, yet which 
commanded, if one felt inclined, a view of the long 
room beyond, the impression was that of a coquettish 
little Parisian restaurant transplanted — the kind one 
has to climb upstairs to find. 

We entered an alcove and seated ourselves at the 
tables reserved, from the center of which a gold-headed 


108 PLAYING THE GAME 

chrysanthemum backed by autumn leaves bobbed a wel- 
come. 

^‘Our host gives us so much of a feast in so many 
ways/' observed Dick’s partner, his keen eye on the 
forlorn flower, ^‘that he feels a little economy in super- 
ficial decoration will not be noticed. Here comes of- 
fering number one” — ^he pulled aside the curtain — 
‘‘the newest musical comedy queen. Do you recognize 
her?” 

“And there,” I cried, forgetting his question as I 
grasped Nella’s arm, “is Jimmy Taghern-Steward with 
— whom is he with, Nella?” 

“I can’t tell, Gypsy.” Nella craned forward. “But 
it isn’t Evelyn, I can see that.” She laughed. “When 
the cat strays from the hearthstone ” 

“She only does that” — Robert Stead’s eyes met mine ; 
eyes they were that proclaimed him a student of men 
and the affairs of men — “when the hearthstone isn’t 
kept warm enough to make her love it, doesn’t she ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Bob,” Dick’s laugh veiled a seri- 
ous note ; “sometimes it can be too hot. Eh, Gypsy ?” 

I sent him a look of warning. I had not yet had 


DICK TAKES A HAND 109 

an opportunity to tell him of the latest turn the affair 
of the baron had taken. 

The luncheon was as piquant as the hors d’oeuvre, 
which in itself was like a mysterious combination of 
peacock’s tongues and spices. Robert Stead kept up a 
running fire of information about the queer characters 
that came and went — Russian and Armenian revolu- 
tionaries, civilized Turks, as he called them, here to 
study our methods of government; journalists, artists, 
opera singers and more than one financier. If only — 
the thought slid through my mind — I might catch a 
glimpse of Baron de Berenzig coming in with some 
one I could use against him! Of course, that was a 
vain wish, but I started when Dick suddenly caught my 
arm, turning from Nella, who had been laughing at 
some quip of his. 

‘‘Gypsy,” he asked quickly, “who is she? She looks 
as though you ought to know her.” 

I looked up, and, to my astonishment, straight into 
the eyes of Mrs. Dolly, who was passing our alcove 
on her way out. The man following her walked on in 
apparent haste as she stopped abruptly, and I noticed 
that his fur collar was pushed up sharply and his 


110 


PLAYING THE GAME 


face turned from us as he hurried past. Yet there 
was something familiar in his figure and carriage, and 
in a flash I recalled the evening of Nella’s dance, 
Dolly’s words that I had overheard and her companion 
whose identity the subdued lights of the conservatory 
had successfully covered. And with the recollection 
recurred the curiosity that had prompted a resolve — 
later forgotten — to make a confession to Dolly of my 
involuntary eavesdropping. 

She hesitated where she had stopped for the frac- 
tion of a second. Then Nella, who had been sitting 
half turned from her, veered about with a gasp of 
amazement. 

‘‘So this is the little luncheon party I had to miss !” 
Dolly’s voice lilted like a song as she advanced in the 
face of our speechless surprise. “You see, fate in- 
tended that I should not. May I make the de trop fifth 
for just a moment?” 

The men had risen and I stammered an introduction, 
my thoughts still upon the man who had swung past 
in such obvious anxiety to avoid us. Dolly chose a 
bench set close against the rear wall, like those in the 
Paris cafes, and the sun coming through the window 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


111 


behind her settled on the silvery green of her costume, 
making it gleam like the coat of a lizard. She leaned 
back with a laugh to match the sunlight. 

‘T must be unwelcome,” she observed; ^^you’re all 
so suspiciously silent.” 

*‘Good heavens, Dolly!” cried Nella. ‘‘When you 
drop from the nowhere into the here that way you 
can't expect us to act as though nothing had hap- 
pened. However expert our schooling, we’ve not 
reached that degree of excellence. How in the world 
do you come here, all alone ?” 

“Just happened, as you say,” said Dolly teasingly. 
“But I’m not alone.” Her smile included all of us. 

“It was a most delightful happening,” Dick ob- 
served, and I stared at him incredulously. Graceful 
compliments were by no means my brother’s forte, 
even in honor of one as new and charming as Dolly. 

Nella was watching him closely, but his eyes as 
well as Robert Stead’s were on the newcomer. The 
latter was studying her with obvious interest. “It is 
evident, Mrs. Brooke,” he laughed, with a gesture to- 
ward Dick, “that our friend here is just beginning to 
appreciate the charm of the unexpected.” 


112 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Dolly looked up, challenging him. ‘‘And you — are 
you hardened against it?” 

“Oh, no,” his sharp eyes met hers; “only a bit more 
accustomed to it, perhaps.” 

“Indeed!” She laughed delightedly. “Then you 
must be that wickedest of modern productions — a law- 
yer who handles divorce cases.” 

“Not precisely,” he answered, a twinkle behind his 
glasses. “I make a specialty of criminal ones.” 

In the gaiety that followed I forgot momentarily 
Dolly’s vanishing companion — and so apparently did 
she. For she waited until we had finished luncheon, 
joining us in a taste of rich Turkish coffee, then ex- 
pressed herself as quite ready to accompany Nella 
and me to Geraud’s studio. 

“May I have a look at the portrait when it’s com- 
pleted?” inquired Robert Stead, as Dick helped the 
others into a cab and we stood apart for a moment. 

“If it’s beautiful enough,” I laughed. “Monsieur 
Geraud is doing his best.” 

And one glance at the picture as I stood before it 
half an hour later proved conclusively that my first 
suspicions were well founded. The Frenchman in- 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


113 


tended making me beautiful enough to tempt even the 
most austere and indifferent of parents. He had proba- 
bly even now anticipated the sale by informing the 
press that ‘‘he was at work on a portrait/' etc. My 
maid met me at the studio with the white tulle gown, 
delicate and cloudy — chosen by my mother and the 
artist, Fve no doubt, as typifying extreme youth. 

When Geraud caught sight of my two companions 
fie intimated with many expressive gestures of regret 
that he could work far better with my maid as sole 
chaperon. Nella sent for her motor, recalling diplo- 
matically some “days" she had intended to grace, but 
promised to return with Dolly in time for tea. 

Before then, however, Carley blew in. I had sent 
him a message earlier in the day, my first appeal to 
him to live up to his end of our compact. Most inop- 
portunely, though, he ran into the middle of a con- 
versation of which Dolly had been the absorbing topic. 
I had changed my gown and was busily admiring the 
huge Serves vase that had once graced the apartments 
of an eighteenth century Princess de Bourbon, when 
Monsieur Geraud handed me a sketch, an elusive form 


114 PLAYING THE GAME 

poised in the air, seemingly all filmy green and spark- 
ling eyes. 

“From memory, mademoiselle,’’ he had said in 
French as I gave a little exclamation of delight. 
“What do you think I might do if I could have but one 
opportunity to study her as she dances — as you have 
told me she can dance ? Do you not think,” he paused 
pleadingly, “that you can urge her to dance here — at 
one of my musicales? I shall be giving several this 
winter. And if you will permit, I shall submit to 
you ” 

“If you wish Mrs. Brooke to dance,” I interrupted, 
“it is to her you must go.” I could see that our French- 
man was a clever man as well as clever artist. Dolly’s 
dances had figured conspicuously in the newspapers 
as well as in the certain magazine of town talk, and 
Monsieur Geraud could have chosen no better means 
to bring himself startlingly within range of the shift- 
ing public eye. Why, Mrs. Hal Brakeman would have 
ordered a dozen portraits for the privilege after that 
of being a guest at one of his functions, even though 
rumor had it that her tall, blonde protege, Mrs. Rich- 
ard Stannard, was posing for a Belgian painter, the 


DICK TAKES A HAND 


115 


portrait to be hers on condition that she procure a cer- 
tain number of orders for him — and Mrs. Hal was 
destined, of course, to be the first victim. 

‘^Do you know, mademoiselle,'’ continued Monsieur 
Geraud, “it is astonishing — I still feel .1 have seen this 
wonderful Mrs. Brooke, met her in some strange man- 
ner. At one time. I knew a Stephen Brook, an Ameri- 
can artist, living in Paris — ^but no, he did not spell 
his name so " 

And it was then Carley was announced, blocking 
the train of the Frenchman’s thoughts. 

My “first aid” and I settled down side by side at 
the table, where I had undertaken to assist the artist 
in serving tea and odd little foreign liqueurs hidden 
away in sweets. This was how my mother and the 
baron found us when they dropped in, as I had an- 
ticipated, a few minutes later. I was astonished at 
the ease with which Carley assumed the role I had 
assigned to him, but then he was the sort to enjoy a 
game of chance, whatever its nature. “Be careful,” 
I whispered, leaning close enough for my feathers to 
brush his hair. “Don’t overdo it — ^that is, not when 
there are only a few to see. Save our grand coups 


116 


PLAYING THE GAME 


for the moment when an audience is about to appre- 
ciate them.” 

Baron de Berenzig, who had been standing lost in 
admiration before the portrait, but with one eye taking 
cognizance of our corner, came toward us as my mother 
and the artist turned their attention to some sketches, 
and bent over my hand, holding it lingeringly in his. 
He did not turn as Dolly and Nella entered, and it was 
not until Carley rose to greet them that he looked in 
their direction. Then his eyes met Dolly’s. As their 
glances crossed he stood for a moment as though petri- 
fied ; his hand dropped limply from mine, his form was 
rigid and a sharp breath caught between his teeth. Yet 
save for the flash of Dolly’s eyes — which flashed con- 
stantly — there was no sign from her such as that which 
transfixed the baron. 

“Has she so soon accomplished my end?” was my 
first jubilant thought. But as the baron’s eyes came 
slowly back to me after I had presented him I could 
read in them amazement, incredulity, fear almost, as 
of a thing supernatural ; but of fascination, sudden in- 
fatuation, ardor, there was none. And I wondered 


DICK TAKES A HAND 117 

what could have passed between them, these two who 
but a moment since had been strangers. 

Conversation was general after that, but I could 
see Baron de Berenzig’s gaze wandering every now 
and then toward the sparkling Dolly, and I devoted 
myself to Carley, relieved that for a time at least I 
was forgotten. My mother, however, would not permit 
me to be forgotten for long. Her observant eye took 
in the scene as she and Geraud joined us, and I caught 
a hard look settling about her mouth. She deftly as- 
signed Carley to Nella as we left the studio and once 
more I found the baron my attendant. He seemed by 
no means loath to. resume his duties, and I rather think 
my own lack of concern as he did so proved something 
of a surprise to my mother. For the first time since 
war had been declared my movements puzzled her. 
Subtleties were evidently not altogether to be scorned. 

That evening Dick astounded us by dropping in 
toward seven o’clock. My mother and I were dressing 
for a dinner when he arrived, but my faher, who had 
anticipated dining in solitary state, welcomed the son 
of the house who so seldom graced its board. 

As I trailed down the staircase that wound gracefully 


118 


PLAYING THE GAME 


into the marble foyer I came upon him rounding a 
curve and stopped short. ‘'Why, Dicky, boy,” I ejacu- 
lated, “how do you happen 

Dick caught both my hands tight in his and peered 
into my face, his gray eyes alive, intense. 

“Gypsy,” he answered softly, “I want to know — ^who 
is Mrs. Dolly Brooke?” 

And as I read his unwonted eagerness, his keen in- 
terest, I drew my wits sharply together and for the first 
time I asked myself the same question. 


CHAPTER VII 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 

Monsieur Gerard had an opportunity to see Dolly^s 
dancing before the musicale he planned to have at his 
studio. The Ham Warrens gave their annual when 
the season was at its height and a series of dances had 
been arranged for the occasion. 

They had put up a stage at one end of the large 
ballroom and seats were left carelessly to be pulled 
into groups instead of being placed in the usual rows. 
The program promised variety. There was to be a 
series of national dances (the “Merry Widow” — unless 
one might, perhaps, cite Mrs. Dolly — had not yet cap- 
tured New York). Evelyn Taghern-Steward and 
Perry Willing were to give us the Mattchiche that had 
set all Paris mad with dancing the year before. 

Mrs. Algy Trane was hiding her long limbs in the 

bloomers and veils of a Turkish odalisque. “Jason” 
119 


uo 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Miles had inveigled Evvy Bingham into matching him- 
self, a Pierrot to her Pierrette — I hadn’t an idea of 
how he was ever going to dance, but fancied his cos- 
tume ought to be infinitely suited to him. 

Dolly was guarding like a state secret the nature of 
her dance. And Carley Deane and I had a wild, devil- 
may-care jockey affair that ended furiously. We’d had 
only two rehearsals for it, and I’d conceived a means 
whereby it might be made to send the ball of gossip 
spinning about in a new direction. 

During the last few months my plan, when I an- 
nexed Carley, had partially succeeded. Already my 
name was frequently linked with his and Mrs. Grundy 
would soon be asking whether I intended capriciously 
throwing over a title to nobility in favor of a title to 
millions. Carley and I — in public — had become as In- 
separable as the Siamese twins. I was astonished at 
the unexpected grace with which this youth' — who had 
been known principally for his polo ponies and his 
prodigal extravagance in backing others not used for 
polo — was playing the devoted. 

The baron meanwhile was still under the wing of 
my resolute mother, who, so far as I was concerned, 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


121 


had become a mere speaking acquaintance as we passed 
on the stairs or in the halls. And I wanted — oh, how 
I wanted — ^to-night to prove to her that I was bound 
to be victor in this war between us ! 

Carley was waiting for me in the smaller ballroom, 
which had been converted from a Louis Seize salon into 
an eighteenth century garden. We entered through a 
bower of roses what might have been Eden or Titania’s 
realm. A warm, twinkling, pale golden summer 
mocked the glint of a winter moon on the snow outside. 
Trailing vines drooped lazily from white pergolas on- 
to the green sward ; everywhere was a tangle of bloom, 
fragrance and melting glow. The soft light showed 
the women’s gowns unreal and elusive as the gauzy, 
gleaming garments of fairies, tempting pursuit as they 
came and went — and there seemed to be no lack of 
sable-coated mortal pursuers. In the center of this 
paradise a fountain laughed and bubbled and sparkled 
forth a pungent spray that proclaimed itself a nectar 
of the gods more palatable than water. 

‘Tlease give this arm a pinch,” sighed Carley. ‘T 
want to see whether Pve died and gone to heaven 
within the last few minutes.” 


122 


PLAYING THE GAME 


“Try a drink from the fountain,” I laughed, “and 
you will find that heaven isn’t half so nice.” 

Carley sniffed and a light of comprehension grew 
in his eyes as he approached the gurgling mass of 
foam. “Not I !” he exclaimed, drawing back. “I feel 
messy in the head already, and not a drop, I swear, 
since dinner. I don’t want to tell the story of my life 
to-night — unless you’re the one on hand to get it. Gyp.” 

“Because you know I’m safe — is that it ? But, Car- 
ley,” I leaned toward him breathlessly, “I want to dance 
to-night — really dance, as Dolly does. Let’s give our- 
selves to it, let’s revel in it. You don’t know how much 
it’s going to mean to me!” 

“And to me,” he added, suddenly bending over me 
as Nella came toward us with Dick. My brother had 
of late taken to accepting invitations he would have 
laughed to scorn a few months since, and people were 
beginning to wonder whether Nella was the attraction. 
I hoped she was. 

We were a group of a dozen or so for the first two 
numbers, Harrison Keating, the Johnny Van Tiels, 
Fritzy Bigelow, Billy Stewart, still keeping a watchful 
eye on Nella, and young Lord Burningham, with the 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


123 


Graice sisters, who represented ten generations of 
Americanism and were quite willing to pay almost as 
many millions for coronets to crown it. Also there 
was the eternal Baron de Berenzig, who had come in 
with my mother after Carley helped me to escape him 
in the outer room. 

Mrs. Algy Trane was on the stage, waving her arms 
like a windmill, when Carley and I disappeared to pre- 
pare for our dance, the others calling after us to do 
our worst. I was ready to — even worse than that! — 
and I felt as the rouge was being laid on my face in 
what seemed to be thick patches that I might give my- 
self a greater surprise than I had laughingly promised 
them. 

My dress was a wisp of white slashed with red, and 
a jaunty cap of crimson coquetted with my hair. Car- 
ley wore white riding breeches and boots, and a red 
and white silk blouse. The scene was set to represent 
a race course, and as a bugle sounded I could feel the 
blood tingling through my veins in mad longing to be 
off. We fairly galloped on to the stage at the signal, 
and flung ourselves with the music into as wild a dash 
for glory as ever spurred on a pair of thoroughbreds. 


PLAYING THE GAME 


1S4 

I could feel my own enthusiasm tearing across the foot- 
lights in the rustle and laugh of pleasure that came back 
to me. Carley's eyes were flashing, and he was keen 
and excited as Pve seen him at the track when a real 
race was on. 

He sped after me, then ahead of me, then we joined 
hands, curvetting about, and as I escaped him, looking 
back to urge him on, “Dance,” I breathed, “like mad !” 
He spun on his heel, made a dash for me and I twirled 
under his arm, laughing up into his face. Gayer and 
wilder the music grew — one could almost hear shouts 
and see colors flying — and I flirted, defied, tantalized, 
mocked, sprang into his path and out of it, until Carley 
had lost himself, with those watching us, in the joy 
of the dance. Then I knew my moment had come. 
“Now” (I wheeled about suddenly, introducing a step 
we had not rehearsed), “catch me — and hold me — 
tight — as if you loved me!” With a final whirl I flew 
into the arms he opened wide. 

“I do, Gypsy, I do !” he panted, as he caught me up 
in them, holding me so until the curtains were drawn. 

I heard the murmuring gasp that held the audience. 



“with a final whirl I FLEW INTO THE ARMS HE OPENED WIDE.’’ 

Page 124 


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ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


125 


^'Glorious!” I cried. ‘'Oh, Carley!’^ as I slipped from 
his close embrace. 

He released me, but gripped my hand as we lost 
ourselves in the wings. “Did you mean it, Gypsy?’' 
His flushed face came close to mine. 

“Look out!” I cautioned breathlessly. “You warned 
me you might get heady to-night. And I won’t have 
you sighing regret in the morning — it’s only make- 
believe, after all, you know.” 

Carley fished vainly into his pocket for a cigarette. 
^‘Oh, is it ?” he said a little hoarsely. “I’d forgotten,” 
and turned away. 

I waited long enough to see Evelyn Taghern-Stew- 
ard, with a daub of mauve on either cheek to match 
her chiffon ruffles, wriggling through the first steps of 
La Mattchiche with Perry in pegtop trousers and satin- 
faced coat. Then I hurried off to get into civilized 
garb and rub some of the rouge from my face. Dolly’s 
dance was to be the last, and I did not want to miss a 
step of it. 

When I again joined the crowd they were already 
chaffing Carley, and Baron de Berenzig’s habitual suave 
composure was cut by a frown that brought his brows 


126 


PLAYING THE GAME 


together in an unbroken black line. I thrilled at the 
havoc I had wrought to his plans. Of what avail now 
his threats? He might shout insinuations — slander 
even — to the four winds and nobody would believe him. 
They would be put down as pique at being tossed aside. 
However I might be censured, the laugh — the world’s 
ridicule I so dreaded — would be at his expense. Dolly 
had been right — one ounce of daring could effectually 
turn the scale against a pound of caution. I sank into 
my chair with a sigh of happiness. My burden of fear 
was at last to be lifted — the finale of our dance had 
caused the limelight to shift from the baron to Carley. 

Already I could feel its glare upon us. ‘‘By Jove, 
Gypsy,” Harry Keating held out his hand, “it was a 
surprise ! Say when, and whether I’m to be there with 
a necklace or dog collar.” 

“I say, you know,” sighed Fritzy, trying to look sad, 
“it was ripping, but we’ll all be wearing the willow if 
Gypsy deserts us, won’t we?” He appealed to the 
crowd in general. 

“Not Carley ! If to-night means anything, that’s his 
game, eh, my boy?” Johnny van Tiel ran his elbow 
into Carley, who was standing silently apart. He 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 1^7 

jumped and his eyes came back to us, meeting the 
baron’s on the way. They seemed to measure each 
other, though, as gentlemen about to cross swords, 
and I wondered if the wine of the dance had really 
gone to Carley’s head. 

Dick leaned oVer my chair, whispering that the 
talents of his little sister quite awed him. But a silence 
fell on us all as the curtains were drawn on a woodland 
scene, a mound of rocks and tall grasses mounting 
guard over a glassy pool. There was a fluty trill as 
from the pipes of Pan and a droning melody like the 
soft splash of water against stone drifted upward. 
Slowly the tall grasses parted and there peered from 
them a white face lit with star eyes. It pushed its way 
nearer with an odd swaying movement and revealed a 
whiter pair of shoulders tensely outlined where they 
gleamed through the silver-gold hair that rippled over 
them like a mermaid’s. I held my breath. Yet the rest 
of the figure as it dragged itself onto the rock was an 
indefinite outline of tangled weeds and shining scales 
and ended in a wide, fanlike tail. 

A gold lyre was hugged against the breast, and softly 
a white hand glided across its strings. There was a 


PLAYING THE GAME 


128 

sigh in the music and a sobbing chant arose. The mer- 
maid was moaning her fate, pleading for freedom, for 
the life of the open, praying for power to dance, to fly 
through the air, offering herself eternally to the sea for 
an hour in the haunts of men. 

The song ended in a long wail, she slid down behind 
the rock, only hair and glowing eyes above it. As sud- 
denly the melody started into a dream of fireflies and 
dew, moonlight and zephyrs. A figure, all gauzy drap- 
eries, sprang upon the rock, poised on one slender foot, 
and flew into abandon of joy like a riot of summer 
breezes. 

I gave a little laugh of delight and looked up — to 
see Dick at my side, dead white, as I had seen him 
once only when rage gripped him. “My God!’' he 
groaned into my ear, “it is a disgrace! To make a 
puppet of her, a thing to amuse, as though — as though 
she were a common creature, a street dancer !” 

I gasped in amazement. “You didn’t — say that — 
when I danced, Dicky.” 

“It — ^was different, somehow.” His voice came un- 
evenly. 

Different! I recalled the day Dick and Dolly met, 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


129 


and how Dick had come tearing up the stairs that night, 
to stop me with his abrupt, ^‘Who is Mrs. Dolly?’’ 
And as understanding of it came to me now I looked in 
Nella’s direction, then turned away again, trying to 
forget the unmistakable change in her, the passing of 
her black moods — since Dick had taken to going about 
with us. I wanted Nella to capture happiness almost 
as ardently as I determined to find a tithe of it for my- 
self. And Mrs. Dolly seemed to have so much more 
than the allotted portion. 

She was wafted from the stage now on a rush of 
applause, then flew back again to acknowledge it. From 
behind me came a voice — Baron de Berenzig’s — distinct 
as a clarion bell. ‘‘She is a marvel ! I have seen but 
one to compare to her — a Viennese dancer, a king’s 
favorite — many years ago.” The last was added as 
Dick flashed about with only my hand on his arm to 
restrain him. He had not yet learned to assume the 
cloak of cool indifference the rest of us had worn to a 
shred. 

Dolly’s arms fluttered outward for the space of a 
second, then she sent a flying kiss across the footlights 
and vanished into the wings. 


130 


PLAYING THE GAME 


When the lights went up, Alicia Warren dragged 
me from the deluge of congratulations that threatened 
to submerge Carley and me. “Fd given you the baron 
for supper, my dear,^^ she whispered confidentially, 
“but ril put Carley in his place if you say so.’' 

“Do, please! You are a love!” And there must 
have been a wicked gleam of triumph in my eye. 

All evening I carried on the play that had begun 
with such splendid flourish, cutting dances for Carley, 
flirting with him, begging him to enjoy the game with 
me when he did not appear to enter into it with his 
usual spirit. And when finally we wandered into the 
mellow light of the garden to take a last sip from the 
tinkling fountain, Evelyn Taghern-Steward stopped 
drinking from the cup Johnny van Tiel — the successor 
of the Parisian banker — had made of his hands, and 
sent a trilling little giggle in our direction. 

“Clever — Gypsy !” she drawled, catching hold of the 
basin edge. “Two strings — to a bow, or two beaux — 
to a string. I always say — variety, yes, but an Ameri- 
can at last — if possible.” 

Then she sat down at the base of the fountain and 
tore a yard or so of flouncing from the foot of her 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


131 


gown. ‘Would you — catch me that way, Carley, boy?’’ 
she looked up, a twinkle in her glistening eyes, “if I 
promised to let you win the race?” 

“Oh, he’s not running any more, eh?” responded 
Johnny, his elbow making for Carley again. “He’s 
crossed the line with flying colors, eh, Gypsy?” 

And though Carley glowered at him, I laughed a 
little wildly, feeling the thrill of victory that was 
mine. 

“You’ve won,” whispered Dolly as we waited in the 
foyer. “It was superb!” 

“So have you !” I nodded significantly toward Dick, 
who was making his way to us, and for the first time 
I saw a sudden cloud darken the brightness of Dolly’s 
face. 

Yes, I had won — I felt it, knew it! Even when I 
met my mother’s eyes and saw that they held any- 
thing but the look of the defeated, I smiled triumph- 
antly into them and allowed Carley to hold my hand 
unnecessarily long as he helped me into the motor. 

But a day later I sat staring at a printed sheet, the 
words before me searing themselves across my eyes 
like a white-hot brand. One moment before I had 


132 


PLAYING THE GAME 


carelessly picked up a morning newspaper from my 
breakfast tray and, turning the pages, I had come sud- 
denly upon it in black and white — it must have been 
black and white, though the letters looked fire-red to 
me — ^the unofficial announcement of my engagement to 
Baron de Berenzig, of Budapest, Austria-Hungary ! 

Only a moment before I had glanced through the 
newspaper for some item of interest, and now there 
was but one thing vital in the world — this lie that 
mocked me from the page I held, the move my mother 
had saved for her final coup d’etat, the crisis brought 
about through my triumphant dance with Carley 
Deane ! 

I sank back helplessly. Yesterday victory had been 
mine ; to-day the world would open wide its eyes as they 
met that paragraph, and it would shout with delight 
that I’d done a clever trick in bringing the baron to a 
declaration by playing Carley against him. 

The burning fact was sent home with terrible cer- 
tainty — I was being forced into a man’s arms as inex- 
orably as the machine of the inquisition pushed its 
victims into the pit. What a little fool I had been to 
think I could circumvent an old campaigner like my 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


133 


mother, one to whom the tricks of diplomacy were the 
A B C of daily life ! 

For a time I lay numb, wishing myself anywhere, 
anyhow, only to be well out of it all. Slowly I went 
over the chain of events dragging me to meet what 
appeared to be my destiny in spite of my loathing of 
it. Then came reaction and I flung myself into one 
last effort, determined to justify my stand against being 
— like all the rest — a pawn on the chess-board of life, 
to be moved by wills other than my own. 

I flew into my clothes with a vehemence that caused 
my maid’s practiced hands to bungle, and without giv- 
ing myself time to reconsider was whirled downtown, 
the newspaper clutched in my hand. 

When I was shown into a big, bare reception-room 
and a page asked me to fill in a slip with my name, my 
business and whom I wished to see I began to realize 
the task I had set myself. 

“I want the editor,” I said impatiently. If the boy 
could have known how precious each moment was to 
me! 

But he only grinned. ‘‘City,” interrogatively ; 
“Sunday, sporting?” 


134 PLAYING THE GAME 

I couldn’t bring myself to* show that paragraph. ‘T 

want the one who has the society ” I took out a 

visiting card. 

“Oh!” He disappeared with it and I waited an in- 
terminable five minutes before I was ushered into an 
inner room and greeted by a tailor-made young woman, 
who received me as if she were my hostess. 

“I am very much, distressed,” I began abruptly, sink- 
ing into the chair she pushed forward, “by this an- 
nouncement in your newspaper. I cannot under- 
stand ” I thrust the sheet toward her. 

She loked at me quizzically. “I think,” she raised 
her eyebrows slightly, “the information ought to be 
authentic. We have it on the best authority ” 

“And I think,” I interrupted, holding myself in tight 
leash so that my voice was hard and cold, “that there 
is but one authority in a case like this. I am quite 
sure you did not receive the information from her, 
since she is here to deny it.” 

“I am not at liberty to state from whom it came,” 
the young woman’s eyes met mine frankly, yet there 
was a curiously speculative look in them, “but I as- 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 135 

sure you had we not been given to understand that it 

was with your knowledge and consent 

‘Then you can refute it now,” I hurried on, mad to 
seize the opportunity at hand. ‘There is not a word 
of truth in this announcement — you have my word for 
it — and it is my particular wish to have a denial pub- 
lished at once.” 

“I am sorry that cannot be done before to-morrow 

morning, but I shall see to it ” 

“Do you mean to say,” my reserve was slipping 
from me and I could feel my voice tremble, “that all 
the evening newspapers must be permitted to publish 
this — with my picture and his, perhaps — and .that I 
can do nothing? I had thought matters could be man- 
aged among newspapers with such remarkable rapidity. 
They are quick at getting out the latest news.” 

“That is just it!” She smiled sympathetically. 
“Unless you make it a point to visit all the offices of 
the evening newspapers before noon they will be sure 

to feature the item, and even then I doubt ” She 

looked at her watch. “It would be best to make the 
yellows think you're giving them a special story — and 
you’ll have to rush I” 


136 PLAYING THE GAME 

I sat staring at her helplessly. “All the evening 
newspapers !” I groaned. “Why, there are so many 
of them ! I don’t even know the names ” 

She sat down at her desk and ran off a list without 
a moment’s hesitation. “I shall use your name,” she 
half questioned as she handed it to me, *hn denying 
the engagement ?” 

‘"Absolutely,” I said with unnecessary violence, “and 
I’ll vouch for it. My mother ” I rushed on pre- 

cipitately, then stopped, biting my lip with a jerk, “has 
made — a mistake,” I added lamely, hating myself for 
my betrayal. 

She turned back to her desk. “I’m glad we can 
rectify it,” she replied carelessly. “And any other time 
— I’m Ruth Cavanagh,” she ended, and in spite of my 
distress I knew I should’ remember the name. 

The rest of the morning was like a fox hunt. I was 
after the quarry — ^that miserable, paragraph — the hot- 
test kind of a chase, and prayed to see the kill by the 
whole pack of newspapers — the wildest and most blood- 
thirsty to have first chance at it. If I had not been in 
such deadly earnest I think I might have enjoyed it to 
the fullest extent. 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


137 


But the rustle and bustle of newspaper offices sped 
by me like the scenes that skim past a train bound 
straight for its destination. Even the man who brutally 
asked me what scandal I had for sale when I tried the 
newspaper woman’s advice and offered him “something 
special” aroused only passing indignation, which I 
hastily swallowed. “Maybe you think they don’t come 
here trying to sell!” he vindicated himself once I had 
stated that my news concerned only myself. 

“Why, I’ve got ’em coming in every day — men and 
women alike — with stories, scandals, about their best 
friends if I’ll take ’em at a price. How d’you think 
we get information? It comes high,” he grinned, but 
we must have it. And if we can get it from head- 
quarters” — and as if in proof of his amazing assertion 
I caught a fleeting glimpse of a tall, slim figure passing 
his door which, in spite of obvious haste, I recognized 
as that of the Hall Brakemans’ protege, Mrs. Richard 
Stannard. 

When I had been obsequiously bowed out of the 
last office by a flabby, middle-aged man of dapper dress, 
who attempted to shake hands as if he’d known me all 
my life, I stepped with a great gulp of relief into the 


138 


PLAYING THE GAME 


street, yet wondering what quota of progress I would 
have to show for my pilgrimage. I had not received 
the assurance from all that the first had so readily given. 
I had felt somehow at once that she understood. 

For a moment I hesitated on the curb, uncertain what 
direction to give, and in that moment the narrow, 
crowded thoroughfare caught me up, pushing me 
straight into the arms of Robert Stead. 

I tried to hide my confusion at meeting him, but 
he looked up at the building I had just left. “Well, 
aren’t you afraid of catching it ?” 

“What?” I asked, miserably self-conscious. 

“Why, haven’t they a yellow flag waving over those 
offices up there? And you know what that means, 
‘Danger ! Keep away from these premises !’ ” 

I laughed uneasily. It was evident he had not seen 
the morning newspaper I still held clutched inside my 
muff. “Sometimes we must conquer disease by braving 
it. That’s what I’ve had to do this morning. Mr. 
Stead,” I hesitated — “I want to see Dick. I must 
speak to him — it’s more than important. Where can 
I find him?” 

My brother’s partner frowned, and his quick eyes 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 139 

were bent on the surging crowd about us. “I’m afraid 
you won’t find Dick just now,” he answered finally, 
and his frown deepened. “He has gone out to lunch- 
eon, and told me he wouldn’t return to-day.” His 
tone had changed, the alert quality gone from it. But 
he turned to me presently. “You will probably think 
it presumptions — it undoubtedly is — but won’t you 
speak to me instead of Dick? I’m a lawyer, too, you 
know.” He smiled. 

“Yes, but not — a brother,” I added, hesitating. For 
the moment I did bng to fling myself within the bul- 
wark of force and protection this man represented. 

He looked down at me swiftly. “No — not that.” 
And his disconcerting eyes met mine. 

“But,” I couldn’t help adding, “I feel sure you could 
help me, Mr. Stead. I — wish I might let you.” And 
when he gave me his hand as I stepped into the motor 
I turned impulsively. “You’ll see an announcement. 
I’m sure, in some of the evening papers, and in others 
a denial,” I went on precipitately. “Believe the denial, 
please, Mr. Stead — and tell every one else to.” 

And I gave instructions for “home.” 

When I reached there I found that half a dozen re- 


140 


PLAYING TKE GAME 


porters had been ahead of me and that my mother had 
seen them all. 

I made no attempt to touch the luncheon prepared 
for me, but wandered nervously from room to room 
and at last sent for the motor again, flinging myself 
into it with directions to take me up the drive. I was 
miserably restless, feeling that I would go mad before 
the evening papers told their tale. I did not know 
that, even at such an early hour, I could find out what 
some of them had to say. 

We were turning into the avenue when I caught 
sight of Carley rounding the corner — Carley, who, of 
all people in the world, must be given an explanation 
and at once. I waved to him wildly and he stopped at 
the curb as we did. A moment he stood looking up at 
me, an unreadable expression in his usually frank eyes. 
Then ‘‘Gypsy ’’ he began. 

But I sent a warning glance toward the footman, 
who had sprung from his seat. “Jump in,’’ I said, 
with an effort at ease, “and let me tell you about it.” 

Once inside, he leaned close to me. “Tell me it isn’t 
true, Gypsy — that thing in the newspaper to-day!” 

“It isn’t true, Carley,” I choked, glad of the tears 


ONE COUP AND ANOTHER 


141 


that almost blinded me. ^Tt's a crime — and I want 
every one to know that it is 

Carley caught my hand and bent over it. 'T knew 
it — couldn’t be” — ^his voice came strangled like mine. 

‘T knew it! Oh, Gypsy, girl ” 

But I drew my hand hurriedly from him — and he 
was silent. 


CHAPTER VIII 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 

‘‘No, REALLY, it’s not true. Some ridiculous mistake 
or ambitious reporter — I’m trying to discover just 
which — must be responsible. I can’t commence to tell 
you how I regret the whole absurd affair.” I looked 
up with a smile — it must have been a tired one — into 
the face of Evelyn Taghern-Steward. 

For the fiftieth time — or more — I was trying to an- 
nihilate that terrible announcement of a few days be- 
fore. It was my mother’s ‘‘day,” and I seemed to be 
dispensing denials with the tea. From the moment, in 
fact, of my precipitate visit to the first newspaper and 
my interview with Miss Cavanagh, through the long 
hours of telephone calls, visitors and curious inquiry, 
I seemed to have become an animated “No!” 

The newspapers had softened somewhat my first em- 
phatic contradiction in deference to the interview my 
142 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 143 

mother had granted to an army of reporters during my 
own round of visits in the newspaper world. She had 
neither confirmed nor denied the ‘‘authoritative state- 
ment’' of my engagement to Baron de Berenzig, but 
suggested “possibilities,” which she left to the repor- 
torial imagination. In consequence there was for sev- 
eral days such a medley of information, both pro and 
con, as served merely to whet curiosity and keep me 
uncomfortably in the public eye. 

“I want to know the meaning of this.” The day the 
announcement made its appearance my father had come 
into the drawing-room where I awaited our dinner 
guests. He held two evening newspapers and frown- 
ingly indicated a paragraph in each, one flaunting under 
my picture the news of my coming marriage to a Hun- 
garian nobleman, the other denying that such a mar- 
riage was to take place. “Why this abominable noto- 
riety?” My father took the time to look straight at 
me, fiery disapproval in his eyes. 

I had steeled myself to meet a flood of questions 
— the world’s demands — with the scant information 
that the notice was an unfortunate mistake. But my 
father and brother I intended should know the truth. 


144 PLAYING THE GAME 

I met the gaze bent upon me with a look to match his 

own. 

‘Tf my mother insists upon placing me in an abom- 
inable position my family must expect to be dragged 
into it. She knows more than I can tell you of that 
announcement.’’ I sent the words darting to meet my 
mother, who had just entered. “As for the denial of 
it — I had no alternative. Look upon it, if you choose, 
as a declaration of independence.” And I swept out, 
afraid to trust myself further. 

I never knew what the interview that must have 
followed brought forth; but in the face of my open 
rebellion, which she undoubtedly had not anticipated, 
my mother could do nothing for a time but suggest 
with a shrug that all inquiry be addressed to me. 

And now, three days later, I smiled straight at the 
two touches of mauve on Evelyn’s cheeks — a fad she 
had decided to perpetuate since its success at the Ham 
Warrens’ dance — and then let my eyes wander to the 
sceptical curve of her intensely red lips, as I repeated 
my weary avowal that I was not engaged and didn’t 
expect to be. , The group about the tea-table listened 
with an air of expectancy. “It’s tremendously excit- 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 145 

ing, of course,” I added, with an uplift of the eyebrows 
indicating that it wasn’t. ‘Tt’s having all the fun with- 
out any of the responsibility; and then, think what 
valuable experience it’s going to prove some day!” I 
stopped with the teapot raised above a gold cup, fine 
as an eggshell. “Isn’t it, baron?” I supplemented dar- 
ingly as I saw him coming toward me, and I flattered 
myself my hand did not even tremble — that much I 
had advanced in a year. 

I had known, of course, the man was too insolent 
to acknowledge defeat by staying away, and so I was 
prepared for his appearance at any time. He advanced 
now to meet my question. “That which the fair lady 
says is true of a necessity,” he said with exquisite 
grace, “though I must admit I have not yet heard what 
it was.” 

“I was saying,” I pushed on headlong, the teapot 
still held aloft, as I felt the room, Argus-eyed, con- 
centrating its gaze upon us — it was the first time we 
had met since the upheaval of three days before — “I 
was telling our friends here how immensely we are 
enjoying the little joke perpetrated at our expense a few 


146 PLAYING THE GAME 

days ago.” The words were scarcely uttered than I 

regretted the recklessness of them. 

The baron leaned over my chair. ‘Tn my country 
we do not rejoice when news is published — ^premature- 
ly !” Though spoken with apparent lightness, the word 
was thrust at me like a sword point. 

My wrist of a sudden grew limp, my hand descended 
weakly, there was a crack, and the eggshell gold cup 
yawned up at me in a wide grin. Those about the 
table coughed, there was a stir of surprised interest, 
followed by a sudden buzz of conversation. I wanted 
to shout that I was a little idiot for playing directly into 
the enemy’s hands. Instead I tried to fall back easily 
on my defenses. ‘Ts that because, being premature, 
it’s apt to kill the very end it seeks to accomplish ?” 

*Tn this country, it would seem,” observed the baron 
poignantly, “an affair is but sooner accomplished when 
it is hurried.” 

I held the sugar tongs poised steadily above another 
cup, just to prove that my discomfort had been but 
momentary. “How fortunate,” I retorted, “that our 
case is an interesting exception to the rule! Shall it 
be lemon or cream, baron?” And I had the satisfac- 









"I FLUNG MYSELF INTO A CHAIR . . . MY FACE BURIED 

IN MY HANDS. 


Page 147 


i » 


« 



FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 147 

tion of seeing Perry Willing — whose propensity for 
scandal I feared more than any woman’s — smile ap- 
preciatively. 

When a week later I read in the magazine of town 
talk an account of that scene in its entirety I no longer 
doubted the newspaper man’s startling statement that 
there was a corps of secret service workers gathering 
inside information in our very midst. 

^Tf mamma is so very anxious and the Herr Baron 
so very willing, why is our dark-eyed, gypsy-haired 
maiden so thoroughly disturbed that she breaks china 
worth a king’s ransom in her embarrassment? If it’s 
notoriety she’s seeking, she has certainly proved her- 
self a genius of self-advertisement this winter. Some 
of our theatrical stars, not to mention lady authors, 
might well take lessons from her and save themselves 
the expense of a press agent. But we’re suspicious 
there’s an underlying motive — perhaps it’s Carley 
Deane — lucky boy!” 

Advertisement! Underlying motive! When all I 
wanted was peace and the privilege of being myself! 

I flung the thing from me and myself into a chair 
before the dressing-table, my face buried in my hands. 


148 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Poor Carley! I had dragged him into the beastly af- 
fair, too, and already I was beginning to fear the con- 
sequences. Carley was such a boy ; I had thought him 
the safest, and now who knew how much unhappiness 
my rash impulse was going to cause him ! Everything 
seemed to be going wrong — even the early morning 
face that stared back at me as I looked up into the 
mirror. There were little seamy lines at the corners 
of the eyes, and the rings about them were heavy 
enough to set with jewels. My rose chiffon peignoir 
made my tired girl’s throat look dead and lifeless as it 
felt — like an old woman’s — and my pale lips seemed 
anything but inviting. Altogether it was a sorry spec- 
tacle that met my gaze. I wondered why the baron per- 
sisted ; there were plenty of other girls, beautiful 
debutantes, even, with as much money as I. As for 
Carley — well, he probably was dazzled by his role of 
cavalier and anxious to fill it becomingly, even if it 
precipitated him to the point of proposal! 

I raised my arms high above my head and brought 
them down, hands clasped, upon it. Not yet four 
years, and this was what it had done for me! How 
I hated it all! If only I could get away — ^find a new 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 149 

world, a different one ! I let my hands drop idly, and 
one of them fell on a cigarette case, with Nella’s mono- 
gram in diamonds. She had forgotten it the day 
before, and it still lay on the dressing-table. I took 
out a cigarette, dainty, gold tipped, and it sent forth 
a subtle, soothing aroma. Slowly I raised it until it 
touched my lips; they caressed it longingly, unaccus- 
tomed though they were to the smoking habit. A 
moment my fingers held it, then reached for a match. 
But they halted half way, and the cigarette was 
dropped hastily at a providential knock on the door. 

My maid handed me the tray she had taken from 
the butler, and I picked up a letter, looking at it curi- 
ously, forgetting in my surprise the temptation of a 
moment before. The name in the corner of the en- 
velope was that of Dick’s firm, but the writing was 
not my brother’s. I studied the strong, abrupt hand, 
feeling an exhilarating flush of interest. 

“There’s a messenger waiting for the answer.” A 
paper knife was thrust into my hand as a reminder. 
My maid was new and apparently deeply concerned in 
my affairs. I hesitated long enough to be sure she 
was not looking over my shoulder, then inserted the 


150 


PLAYING THE GAME 


knife. To my astonishment, the envelope yielded only 
a request to call at the office as near noon as possible 
that day to consult on a matter of importance. That 
was all — just enough to arouse my curiosity — above 
the signature of Robert Stead, with an added word ask- 
ing me to name the hour, if any, convenient for me. 

I scribbled a line, saying that a little before twelve 
would suit me admirably, and hurried into a walking 
suit, only to come face to face with Jason Miles on my 
way out. “Hello, my dear !” She held out both hands. 
“Fm just running in to tell you how perfectly thrilling 
I think it all is. Why, you’re the most envied girl in 
Gotham. There isn’t a married woman, even, wouldn’t 
give her ears to be talked about the way you’ve been 
for days and days! Fve just left Cissy Trane sitting 
up in bed fairly devouring that paragraph about you 
this morning, and I can tell you her eyes were a brilliant 
pea-green. ^That girl will have every man in town 
after her now,’ she said; ‘she’s simply made herself 
interesting — I never thought she had it in her!’ And 
I sat down on her right then and there with, ‘You 
don’t mean to say you’re just commencing to discover 
how clever Gypsy is?’ Why, my dear,” Jason bub- 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 151 

bled over, “people are forgetting to ask how long Mr. 
Evelyn Taggy-Stew is going to stand for his wife’s 
escapades and whether Evelyn is really going to suc- 
ceed in separating the Johnny van Tiels. They’ve 
stopped wondering how far Mrs. Hal will go to break 
into society, and if that stunning Mrs. Stannard’s af- 
fair with Archie Wynne will land her there. They’ve 
given up asking questions, sub rosa, about Mrs. Dolly’s 
antecedents and how our exclusive Nella came to take 
her up without knowing more of them. And as for 
Nella herself, and whether she’s going to give Billy 
his final conge in favor of that fascinating brother of 
yours — my dear, it’s all, all forgotten! Everything’s 
you — you — you ! Whew I” 

Jason subsided to take a long breath. 

“Well,” I turned about and made for the library. 
“I’ve just five minutes,” I managed to interpose, fling- 
ing myself into a chair, as Jason snuggled into a 
copious one facing me, her long train dragging like a 
peacock’s tail along the floor, “to tell you that I’d give 
five years of this precious life to be able to ‘wrap the 
drapery of my couch about me’ and forget about the 
whole affair. It’s developed into the most unamusing 


152 


PLAYING THE GAME 


experience of my existence, however entertaining the 
rest of the world may find it. How do you think you’d 
enjoy being promised in marriage off-hand by a dis- 
interested newspaper, and to the wrong man at that?” 

“Oh \” Jason sat up; “then there is a right one?” 

“Let’s hope there will be some day. Otherwise all 
this fuss might be futile.” 

“Carley?” Jason’s eyes twinkled knowingly and 
every hair of her gold head shone with interest. 

“Oh, no one just at present,” I shrugged; “just an 
indefinite ideal.” 

“Oh, come now; don’t try to put me off!” Jason 
looked incredulous. “You know, my dear, it’s bound 
to be either Carley or the baron — ^unless something 
better turns up unexpectedly.” 

“Well, if what Cissy Trane says is true I ought to 
have dozens, both attached and unattached, to choose 
from within a very short time. I’ll have to live up to 
what’s expected of me ” 

“You won’t be popular if you do,” she giggled. 
“You’ve roused jealousy enough already, my dear. 
First you calmly appropriate a prize package from a 
lot of women who had claimed him for their own, 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 153 

and now, a year and a half later, you show an even 
calmer inclination to make him ridiculous — as if he 
weren’t all he’d been represented.” 

I gave a gasping little laugh. If she’d known how 
the “prize package” had misrepresented himself, and 
how near he’d come to making me ridiculous ! 

“Oh, yes, it is fun. I’ll admit,” Jason joined in. 
“But it’s meant only for those safely married, and 
they know it. We’re modest violets, you know, and 
they are going to resent our breaking away from their 
patronage, my dear. So don’t keep this up too long, 
even though it is the most deliciously exciting thing 
that’s ever going to happen to you.” 

I stretched my arms above my head with an attempt 
at carelessness. It was useless, I knew, to try to con- 
vince her how wretched I felt about it all. “I’ve no 
desire to usurp their privileges, I assure you, and all 
this notoriety is as unsought as it is uncomfortable.” 
I wondered whether she could have noticed the lines 
about my eyes and guessed that each one indicated a 
sleepless night. “You wouldn’t have had me drag the 
baron into an unpleasant position by failing to deny the 
engagement, would you?” 


154 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Jason looked at me with a complimentary gleam in 
her eye. “Every one says it’s a position he’d take at 
a moment’s notice. And, my dear, he is such a fasci- 
nator! Why, his eyes could make me ” She rose 

with a flutter of frills as I stifled a yawn, and gave me 
a little puzzled glance from the corner of her eye. “But 
of course,” she shrugged, “you know best what you’re 
doing ” 

“I don’t,” I laughed; “that’s just it. Every one else 
seems to know so much better, that I’m being credited 
with motives I’ve not brains enough to think of. Some 
day I shall slip quite naturally into oblivion and 
people will begin to realize how they’ve fooled them- 
selves.” 

“And meanwhile you’ll keep on being a celebrity and 
having the most glorious time of your life!” she ef- 
fervesced. “Yes, you can take me down, dear,” as 
I interrupted to ask if I could drop her somewhere; 
“our car is- out of commission” — the Miles’ car was al- 
ways nominally in evidence, but materially out of com- 
mission — “I’ve promised to stop back for Cissy ” 

“And tell her all I have to say.” I easily com- 
pleted the sentence. “Dear me, I hope I’ve not said 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 


155 


anything that can be used against me.’^ But mentally 
I hurried over our talk to be quite sure there had been 
no indiscretion on my part. 

‘‘Hardly!’' Jason gave a flattering little laugh as 
we stopped a few blocks farther on. “You’re far too 
clever, Gypsy,” she added, stepping out, “for any of 
us.” But I knew and she knew that I wasn’t. 

I arrived late to meet my mysterious appointment 
with Robert Stead, and as I entered the offices found 
Dick hurrying out. 

“Hello, little girl !” He stopped, turning back with 
me. “Coming in to tell me some more of your 
troubles ?” 

“Not this time, though they’re heavy enough.” 

“Still that miserable announcement?” He frowned. 
“Poor kiddie, having greatness thrust upon her that 
way! Live it down” — he looked at me with that dear 
brother’s smile of tenderness I loved as the only family 
tie I had even been made to feel — “like the rest of 
us,” he added, tilting my chin so that I met his gaze. 
“But if you’re not here to see me, why ” 

“I’ve an appointment — — ” 

“Aha !” Dick’s eyes smiled into mine. “Sly Bob 1” 


156 


PLAYING THE GAME 


^‘Why, no!” I felt myself flush unexpectedly and 
hurried on. ^'He sent me a note this morning ” 

‘'Exactly ! I said ‘Sly Bob !' ” Then his brows came 
together. “Don’t let him tell you all my shortcomings, 
Gypsy,” he laughed with an underlying note of serious- 
ness. 

“Your shortcomings, Dick!” 

“Well” — he hesitated, watching me a little anxiously 
— “they’ve offered him a neat little judgeship, and he 
may want some advance practice before deciding to 
accept,” he finished enigmatically, and I knew that 
wasn’t what he had started out to say. “You’ll notice 
I’m not asking the nature of that appointment,” he 
went on lightly, as he turned to go, “but I always did 
say Bob knew the real article the minute he laid eyes 
on it.” 

“Dick,” I called after him, “you’re positively vul- 
gar !” 

A moment later I was shaking hands with Robert 
Stead and telling him I’d come in dread of his per- 
emptory legal summons. “Please don’t tell me you’re 
sitting in judgment on me along with the rest of the 
world,” I pleaded. 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 157 

'‘Oh, as to that’' — ^he drew forward a chair and sat 
down facing me, his dark eyes snapping — 'Tve exam- 
ined all the papers in the case, as advised ” 

"Newspapers, you mean,” I corrected. 

"Why, are there any other — any incriminating cor- 
respondence, or ” 

I couldn’t help laughing at his assumption of concern. 

"Well, then,” he went on, "having examined all the 
papers in the case, I am prepared to declare myself for 
the plaintiff — and the rest of the world can take care 
of itself! I do want to tell you” — he leaned toward 
me, his voice lost its raillery and a look of genuine 
disgust darkened his face — "that I think it the most 
contemptible piece of business ” 

"I am glad I warned you in advance,” I interrupted 
earnestly, wondering whether he could really have sur- 
mised that the announcement had not been due solely 
to an over-zealous reporter. His words and manner 
certainly indicated that he suspected wheels within 
wheels. "And now your note of this morning.” I 
hastened to change the subject, feeling an absurd in- 
clination to confess to him more than I should. "As 


158 


PLAYING THE GAME 


long as youVe relieved me of any possible fears for 
myself ’’ 

'‘Ah, yes.’' He pulled his chair closer to me; then, 
tossing up his head like a thoroughbred taking the bit 
between his teeth, "Pm going to make a singular re- 
quest,” he said in a quick, hurried voice, “one you 
will probably misinterpret. I want — an opportunity — 
to meet Mrs. Brooke again soon — very soon.” 

“Not at all extraordinary !” Though I was puzzled 
that he had brought me down to his office for so strange 
a purpose. “More than one man, having met Mrs. 
Dolly once, is anxious to see her again. Is that the 
'matter of importance’?” I couldn’t prevent an un- 
pleasant note of amused surprise from creeping into my 
voice. The man had seemed far too big to waste his 
time worrying over a pretty woman. 

“Don’t misunderstand. It is more important to you 

than to me ” He stopped himself suddenly. “I 

can’t even attempt to explain,” he continued, his fingers 
drumming a little nervously on the table at his side — 
it was the first time I had seen a sign of indecision on 
his part; “but I need you to help me, and if it can be 
arranged ” His quick eyes met mine squarely, and 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 159 

there was just a momentary suggestion of appeal in 
them. 

“Of course it can!” I came in promptly. “Dick 
shall give us another of those delightful luncheon 
parties. It will be the best kind of an excuse ” 

He rose hastily and walked to the other end of the 
room, so that his face was turned from me, but I could 
feel the tense energy of his angular frame, with its 
broad, square shoulders. “Suppose we keep this a mat- 
ter entirely between ourselves. I know it seems un- 
usual” — he veered about, facing me — ^“unprecedented, 
even, asking you to trust me — to do this for me, a 
complete stranger, without even consulting . your 
brother ” 

I looked up at him in bewilderment. Dick was 
his associate, comrade, friend. What was it I could 
do for him apart from Dick's knowledge that my 
brother could not accomplish a thousand times bet- 
ter? “But Dick ” I began. 

He brought his hand vehemently down on the table 
before him. “Dick is white — white clean through — 
and he's not going to be tricked by any one — ^you or 
I least of all.” He broke off, his eyes gleaming. I 


160 PLAYING THE GAME 

wished that I might have seen him pleading a case in 
court. ^‘How about that portrait you were going to 
let me see? Is it beautiful enough?” And his sudden 
smile was a challenge. 

I caught up the implied suggestion. “Yes, it might 
be arranged that way.” I considered a moment. “Mon- 
sieur Geraud has promised me a private view for my 
friends before he sends it to the academy. I could make 
it Saturday afternoon, at about five.” 

Robert Stead held out his hand. “Pm glad youVe 
willing to number me among them. And try” — he 
looked down at me as I met his clasp — “to think me as 
welcome — as you can, under the circumstances.” 

I smiled at his earnestness. “You men of law are 
mysterious. Is it the law ?” 

“No,” he said; “it’s life!” 

He held my hand an instant in both of his and I 
looked up at him, wondering what response the rugged, 
magnetic personality of the man would receive from 
my world. Would he be looked upon as an inter- 
loper, or a mere curiosity that I had by some chance 
recently unearthed? 

The following Saturday afternoon Monsieur Geraud 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 161 

received Nella and Dolly and myself in the reception- 
room adjoining his big, unadorned studio. The warm, 
Oriental touch that characterized his pictures found 
extravagant expression in the heavy Moorish lamps 
and braziers sending their subtle glow through the 
little apartment. One enjoyed comparing the two 
rooms, indicative both of the workman and the artist 
at his leisure. I stood in the doorway leading to the 
studio and smiled absently on the rest of the party as 
they sauntered in, my gaze wandering every now and 
then toward the outer hall. I felt like a conspirator. 

My principal guest came among the last, and I could 
feel at once the unexpected ripple of interest his en- 
trance set in motion. The Graice girls tilted their chins 
in haughty inquiry and shrugged when Lord Burning- 
ham leaned toward them with a whispered question. 
Perry Willing gave Cissy Trane a delicate nudge, and 
as Robert Stead came toward her she bent her length 
forward with an eagerness she could not conceal. 
Fritzy Bigelow gathered himself up from his sprawl- 
ing position next to Jason in a Turkish corner. And 
Carley acknowledged his introduction in dazed fashion, 
wondering probably if this was some new trick I was 


162 


PLAYING THE GAME 


trying. Altogether, there was a stimulating tingle of 
electricity in the air. 

But if I expected Robert Stead to utilize Mrs. Dolly’s 
instant recollection of him as a means to monopolize 
her I was quite mistaken. Once in the studio, he en- 
gaged with Geraud in a discussion of my portrait, dis- 
playing a knowledge of art that must have astonished 
the artist as much as it did me. He seemed to have 
forgotten all of us, and gradually the little murmurs 
of admiration, or comment, or stereotyped criticism 
died away. We found ourselves listening to the low, 
vibrant tones of his voice, as he hit upon points of con- 
struction, resemblance and draping, that pierced the 
suave French painter’s cultered veneer and sent him 
dancing with the primitive joy of the creator. 

‘‘My dear,” Jason sighed into my ear, “he’s a — 
stunner. Where did you find him?” 

“Oh,” I laughed, “he’s just part of the big world 
you and I know nothing about. I dare say you could 
run across him anywhere in the neighborhood where 
the wheels go round.” 

Geraud was hunting up a sketch of the President 
of France, and Robert Stead came toward us. “Mon- 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 


163 


sieur Geraud says you object to the use of your name 
on the portrait. Why not call it Truth’ ? Those are 
the frankest eyes I’ve ever seen.” And he looked 
straight into mine. 

I looked from him to the portrait — a transparent 
cloud of white tulle, and rising from it a black-haired 
girl, who might have been myself as I hoped to be. 
‘‘Because,” I responded, “you can’t count on seeing 
truth in black and white.” And there was a little titter 
of understanding from those near enough to hear. 

But as my eyes came back to him I saw that Robert 
Stead was staring at a small canvas the artist had 
pushed to one side. “Why,” he turned in the direction 
of Dolly — herself a picture in violet and gray — whose 
eyes were unconsciously following him, “isn’t this 
Mrs. Brooke ?” He picked up the sketch of bright eyes 
and gauzy green that Geraud had shown me weeks 
before. 

“Why, so it is !” Dolly took the canvas from him a 
little hurriedly. “Monsieur Geraud, when did you get 
this ?” She examined the painting carefully and turned 
to Geraud, her musical voice strangely discordant. 


164? PLAYING THE GAME 

‘‘Don’t you know, I’ve made it a point never to pose — 
for any one ?” 

“Madam,” the Frenchman bowed to the ground, 
“when every unconscious pose is in itself a picture, 
what artist would wish to resist — or forget?” 

Dolly looked up at him with an enchanting smile. 
“It is a dear picture,” she admitted, then moving closer 
to the artist and in a monotone that did not escape me, 
nor Robert Stead, whose gaze I could feel going out 
to her in little waves of magnetism, “Is it possible for 
me to possess it ?” she asked. 

The Frenchman flung out his hands despairingly. 
“I regret, madam, it is not to be had, unless — ^you will 
consent to permit me to paint another, and better one, 
of you.” 

Dolly grasped the picture in both hands. “Per- 
haps ” she compromised. 

“When madam has been so gracious as to con- 
sent, and the picture has been completed,” the artist 
answered, unswerving, “she shall have this one as — 
an acknowledgment.” He twirled his mustache, his 
eyes impatiently alert for her reply. 

Dolly bit her lip and moved away, the sketch still 


FATE, THE SILENT PLAYER 165 

grasped in her hands. Robert Stead's keen glance fol- 
lowed her above the drawing he made a feint at ex- 
amining. She went toward the reception-room, with 
its mingling of warm light and shade, and as the rest 
of us joined her there was a sudden sharp outcry, the 
sketch fell face downward on a divan, and Dolly’s 
hand went up to her lips, a ragged tear across her 
gray glove. ‘Tve collided with one of those fascinat- 
ing Egyptian things of yours, monsieur I’artiste,” she 
pointed to a standing brazier, '‘and I’m afraid I’ve 
done myself harm.” She ripped off her glove, dis- 
playing to the surrounding group a crimson welt slash- 
ing her white hand. Our host, uttering a thousand 
apologies, hurried off for some lotion. 

But Robert Stead had quietly taken up the picture 
she had flung aside, and I saw across its painted sur- 
face a merciless, irreparable gash. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE WHIRLING WHEEL OF FORTUNE 

I STOOD at my window looking into the sunken gar- 
dens of Woodmar, Grant Haywood’s Southern estate. 
I have said that very few persons recognized Grant 
Haywood as Helena Penning’s father, but once a year 
this fact was made evident by a house party given for 
her at his place in South Carolina. Invariably he 
waited until the Pennings had left for Florida and 
the present Mrs. Haywood departed on her annual 
trip to patch up the differences between her daughter, 
who had married a baronet, and her daughter’s English 
husband. Then he would gather together a few of his 
own friends and a few more of Nella’s, and Woodmar 
was thrown open to greet a week or fortnight of fes- 
tivity. 

We had arrived, a party of fifteen, after a roaring 

trip on the Haywood private car, where fun had flowed 
166 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 


167 


as irresponsibly as the champagne. Dolly was the life 
of it and we had all followed her lead, flinging aside 
whatever masks we may have found it advisable to 
wear in town. It was evident that even Perry Willing, 
whose recently successful attentions to a wealthy Phila- 
delphia widow forced him to be circumspect, would be 
unable to carry home his usual tale without being him- 
self a part of it. From the moment when he garbed 
himself in the cap and apron of one of the maids and 
insisted upon acting as general attendant just to prove 
that neither the motion of the car nor the cham- 
pagne had affected him, he seemed to forget that he 
was a self-appointed lord high executioner of the god 
gossip. And the rest of us did, too. 

And now, as I gazed into the white and green rap- 
ture lying below me, I promised myself a week that 
should obliterate all the miserable months that had 
gone before. This was such a wonderful world we 
had come into from the chill North that I was sure 
there could be no sadness in it. Everything must be 
big and broad and free where all was clear expanse and 
sunshine and balmy, fragrant breezes. 

I flung a foolish kiss to the sun beaming in on me 


168 


PLAYING THE GAME 


and slipped into the creamy cloth gown my maid had 
ready, topping it with a huge black hat at a reckless 
angle that sent the heavy plumes showering over my 
hair and shadowing my face. I was happily certain 
that for a time I was to be relieved of the possibility 
of having “greatness thrust upon me,” as Dick had 
put it, and I didn’t mind showing it. 

At the foot of the marble steps leading on to the 
terrace where tea was being served Grant Haywood 
met me, looking gay and young enough to be his 
daughter’s husband. He was the type of man who 
always has a wife — and usually has had more than 
one — ^yet invariably suggests smiling bachelorhood and 
seems to enjoy the role. The flabby, well-groomed 
face deceived one into underrating a determined mouth 
accustomed to command and have its will. There was 
a jovial twinkle about the eyes, yet at closer range they 
were hard and piercing. One felt he might have been 
king or criminal, or a blending of both. In carriage 
he proved the British blood in the Haywood stock — 
erect, approaching middle age, yet loath to show it — 
inclined to embonpoint like dozens of other successful 
figures. Nella cherished a secret admiration for her 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 169 
father, perhaps for the very reason that her mother’s 
early divorce and remarriage had directed the entire 
course of her life away from him, even to the doing 
over of her name, while he looked upon her carelessly, 
as something to amuse when it best suited his con- 
venience. 

There were ten lounging about the tea-table as we 
approached it — Billy Stewart, indefatigable as ever 
and gazing at Nella; Jason Miles and Evvy Bingham, 
side by side on a wicker divan; the Johnny van Tiels, 
Harry Keating and Perry, with Carley drawing a chair 
for me next to his, and Dolly’s eyes dancing around 
the silver samovar to meet us. 

“Tea with a bit of rum, or rum with a bit of tea?” 
she asked. “Or will you have something you really 
want ?” 

“Something long and cool for Gypsy and short and 
hot for dad,” Nella supplied. “I know the tastes of 
both.” 

“Quite right, my dear,” her father approved. 
“What’s the use of trying to drown trouble in tea ?” 

“Ask the Three Graces,” said Harry, indicating the 
Graice girls, with Lord Burningham between them 


170 


PLAYING THE GAME 


coming along the terrace, a lank, spare trio. ‘Turny 
will tell you tea’s God’s own beverage — and England’s, 
or should I put England first ?” 

Nella went to meet the newcomers, and Perry’s eyes 
went skyward. ‘‘Here’s to the Graice that lands him.” 
He lifted his cup, the mellow odor of which implied 
that it was rum with a dash of tea. “Ten to one it’s 
Gwen.” 

“I’ll take you,” Johnny van Tiel pulled out his note- 
book, “on evens that it’s the other.” 

The wager was closed amid a bubble of laughter 
that threatened to burst when Harry whispered, just 
as the others came up : “At any rate, Burny’s taking 
his time — and his choice.” 

I stole a glance at Carley, wondering whether, with 
Baron de Berenzig to complete the trio, we had been 
the subjects of similar gaming during the past weeks. 
And as I turned his eyes met mine with an equally 
speculative look in them. 

“Well, here’s to all of us!” Nella’s father settled 
into his chair and sent down his “short, hot” potion 
at one gulp. “All of the first section, that is. I came 
to the conclusion when we left town that we were 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 171 

too few to be able to lose ourselves, so there's a special 
detachment arriving to-morrow." 

Nella looked over at me with eyes half closed. And 
while I dressed for dinner she slipped in on me wav- 
ing a telegram. “Dick’s coming!" she announced, 
dropping on to the couch and crowding a cushion be- 
hind her head. “You see, I told you he could be per- 
suaded and you doubted me. Something, Gypsy, is 
winning that uncertain brother of yours back to the 
fold." And she looked so happy I couldn’t bring my- 
self to tell her I suspected the “something" was Dolly. 

“Oh," I turned attentively to the mirror and tried 
a gold band in my hair, “I shouldn’t be at all aston- 
ished if he eventually degenerated into the same sort 
as the rest of us." 

“He couldn’t!" Nella put in valiantly. “He’s not 
made of the same stuff." 

“Thank you!" I made a feint at laughter. “I 
rather thought our fair cynic was of the opinion that 
we’re all made of the same stuff — if the worst and 
the best of us only realized it. Well, what other reve- 
lation will to-morrow’s caravan hold in store for me ?" 

She shrugged as if no one but Dick really mat- 


17a 


PLAYING THE GAME 


tered. ‘^Oh, Monsieur Geraud — Fve told him to come 
down and make a study of Dolly, since she^s so obsti- 
nate about posing for him. And then there^s Fritzy — 
he fills up gaps so neatly — and the Algy Tranes with 
their new lap dog, and — oh, some others Daddy Hay- 
wood decided on. Fve honestly forgotten to ask.^' 

But I found out to my full satisfaction on my re- 
turn from a ride the following day. A party of six 
had gone over to Aiken for tea and Carley and I 
were together most of the time. Carley was at his 
best when he rode, with his crop of hair bared to the 
sun and his bronzed face bright with the joy of the 
spirited animal under him. We laughed into each 
other^s eyes as we swept through a perfect ocean of 
pine, and I felt that the old camaraderie was being 
gradually restored. 

A line of motors and servants disappearing with 
handbags met us on our return. We were too late to 
meet the arrivals and I dashed up the stairs, intent 
upon being down for a word with dear old Dick before 
dinner. 

I dressed in a whirl and was whisking down the 
wide staircase that yawned inviting one below, when 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 173 

something caught and held the yashmak trailing from 
my shoulders and I heard my name called softly. I 
turned, then stopped and leaned heavily against the 
balustrade. I happened to be looking into the smiling 
face of Baron de Berenzig. 

‘Traulein, I want just a word with you. May I 
have it?’' 

*'1 — I did not know you were to be here.” And 
my tone must have left no doubt as to my course in 
the face of such knowledge. 

^‘And I also did not — ^until the telegram which I 
received two days ago. I should not, perhaps, have 
come, only I wished to tell you it is not my wish that 
you should be unhappy any longer because of me.” 

There came into his voice a. sudden agreeable, im- 
personal quality that, as I stood staring at him, my 
lips parted in amazement, recalled the man as I had 
first known him in the fullness of his attraction. 

*T have tried,” he added, somewhat hurriedly, *'in 
a mistaken way, no doubt, to make you recognize how 
I loved you, and to win you, if possible. I have been 
unsuccessful” — he shrugged — ‘'it is the fortune of war. 
And I have seen you hating me. But now I want to 


174 PLAYING THE GAME 

ask you whether it is not still possible for us to be 
less of enemies and more of friends, as we were last 
year, before — all this.” He waved his hand vaguely. 

I did not answer. I tried in a rush to explain to 
myself this incredible change of attitude. Did it mean 
a ruse ? Or could it be possible that he had come sud- 
denly to the conclusion that the whole game was not 
worth the candle which for a time had taken on the 
proportions of a calcium light? And then I chided 
myself for my vanity. It was entirely possible that 
he had at last realized what a miserable little candle 
I was, with only a tracing of gold to hide the raw 
tallow underneath ! In spite of which I heaved an 
immense sigh of relief. It was good to be raw and 
tallow and candle once more ! 

‘‘Will you, frMein, during this week and all the 
weeks to come, forget that — I have been fighting for 
you, and you against me?” 

I met his smile, still doubting, and could not quite 
bring myself to clasp the hand he extended. “I can — 
try,” I said uncertainly. It was beyond human power 
to accept altogether the impression of the man as he 
stood now before me when for months I had accus- 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 175 

tomed myself to a bas-relief of him, resolute, uncon- 
querable. 

All through dinner I found myself sending cursory 
glances in his direction, trying vainly tci readjust the 
mental picture that had been with, me for so long. 
Afterward, when we wandered by twos into the draw- 
ing-room, I coupled with Carley through force of habit 
and the instinct of self-protection. 

The long French windows were flung open to the 
golden moonlight, with only a shaded lamp here and 
there to combat its supremacy. From the terrace below 
the soft melody of Southern darky voices floated up to 
us, with the ripple of banjo and lapping of guitars to 
keep them company. A faint mist of smoke and the 
perfume of the women’s cigarettes made the room deli- 
cately unreal. All was warmth, rich and languorous 
and delicious. 

Nella, reclining in a low chair, with her head droop- 
ing luxuriously against its back, fluttered her cigarette 
through space so that its tip glowed like a firefly. 
‘‘Dolly,” she sighed, “dance for us and Fll willingly 
relinquish all hopes of heaven.” 

Dolly glided into the center of the glistening floor 


176 PLAYING THE GAME 

and let the wave of light engulf her. She fairly shone 
as her arms went swaying above her head and her 
lithe body poised itself for motion. Then of a sudden 
the arms came sighing downward, she stopped, her 
face turned to Dick — impulsive, adorable Dick — who 
had taken a protesting step forward. 

“I don’t think I can dance to-night.” She trembled 
a little. ‘Tf I tried I should float out of that window 
and never return.” 

There was a buzz of disbelief. Dolly not dance ! It 
was incongruous — ^too absurd ! She went back to Dick 
and I saw Monsieur Geraud behind my chair stealthily 
pocketing a small sketching pad. ‘Tt is fate, mada- 
moiselle,” he said in French, seeing that I had caught 
him in the act. “I shall never be able to get her now, 

and there are so many others who have succeeded ” 

and he held back the rest of his sentence. 

I did not miss the hesitancy in his voice. “Monsieur 
Geraud,” I leaned toward him suddenly, “you said 
once that Mrs. Brooke haunted you — that you had 
seen her somewhere. Have you guessed how — and 
where ?” 

It had come at last — ^the question that had been surg- 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 


177 


ing and throbbing subconsciously ever since I felt Mrs. 
Dolly coming into Dick’s life. What had it mattered 
in the beginning? She had been a fascinating, absorb- 
ing novelty. But now — I thought of myself groping 
vainly to touch the chord of memory that had been 
struck the first time I saw her; I thought of Geraud’s 
words and of Baron de Berenzig’s eyes that might 
have been gazing at a thing supernatural the day they 
had come face to face in the studio; I thought of 
Robert Stead, but, most of all, I saw my brother Dick 
giving her all of his strong, chivalrous manhood. And 
I felt now I should never be satisfied until the web of 
Dolly’s mystery had been pierced. 

“Mademoiselle,” the artist paused evasively, tugging 
at his black, pointed mustache, “there are paintings 
in the Luxembourg, at the salons each year, of nymphs, 
of sprites, of goddesses — Mrs. Brooke, you will agree, 
might have been any one of these.” 

I sat upright. “You have guessed,” I whispered, 
“and you will not tell me!” 

“Mademoiselle,” the Frenchman bent over me, 
“when I discovered that sketch I had made of her 
hopelessly destroyed the day she injured her hand I 


178 


PLAYING THE GAME 


did guess, and,” he looked at me quizzically through 
an even blue ring of smoke, '1 have told you,” he fin- 
ished pointedly. 

I caught his arm breathlessly. do not under- 
stand your subtleties. You've told me nothing ” 

Geraud shrugged with a touch of mockery. ‘‘You 
Americans are the Achilles of the nations,” he re- 
marked with seeming irrelevance, “a giant of gold 
that knows no conqueror. But your Achilles' heel — 
ma foi, it is thrust into view for any one who cares 
to use his spear — it is your reckless craving for nov- 
elty. A new sensation, a new emotion, something 
new to amuse you — and you ask no questions! You 
will pay any price, accept blindly such information as 
is offered, that, were the affair one of business instead 
of society, would be probed and sifted until facts were 
brought to light.” 

“In other words, we allow ourselves to be imposed 
upon?” I had vaguely caught his suggestion. 

“Not at all!” The moon illumined the smile that 
crossed his face. “You want to be,” he tactfully cor- 
rected. “Last week Perraro, the little Italian who has 
painted her so often, had La. Cavalieri at his studio. 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 179 

and women — women whose calling-lists are the most 
exclusive in your city — ^pushed each other like mad to 
meet her, to speak with her, clasp her hand.’’ He 
laughed in recollection. *Tt was like one of your — 
how do you say it ? — bargain rushes !” 

But his amusement escaped me. I was staring wildly 
at Dick and Dolly stealing on to a balcony together. 

*^Do you mean to imply that Mrs. Brooke ” 

With hands raised he warded off the impeachment. 
^^Mademoiselle, could you imagine that I would slander 

one who ” he stopped. 

A wave of darky laughter caught the melody below 
and it was sent rolling upward, breaking the spell that 
held us in whispering groups. 

Nella brought her eyes back from the window 
through which Dick had disappeared with his com- 
panion. As they strayed past us there was a startled 
look of discovery in them, and it was not my imagina- 
tion that read despair as well. She dragged herself 
wearily from the chair. Of a sudden she seemed inert, 
wraithlike, transparent almost. Something contracted 
where my heart was supposed to be and I wanted to 
sob outright. “Moonlight’s monotonous — let’s try 


180 


PLAYING THE GAME 


bridge, or watch the little wheel go round/’ She 
rested a hand on Billy Stewart’s ready arm. '‘Monte 
Carlo across the hall, friends,” she laughed. 

I shivered, drawing my yashmak close about me, 
and Carley, who had been discussing with Johnny van 
Tiel our host’s enviable string of "blue grass” thor- 
oughbreds, turned to me. "You don’t want to play, 
do you, Gypsy?” he asked as Geraud indifferently al- 
lowed the rule of the majority to carry him with them 
into the great lighted oak hall. 

"No,” I answered; "I want to get nearer the moon 
and the music. Can you take me ?” 

We found a door to a smaller corridor leading on to 
the terrace. Below, the lawn rippled away to meet 
the Italian gardens that crept sleepily out of the moon’s 
path ; above, the long, lazy white house leaned against 
its pillars and gave way to light and laughter. 

Carley linked his arm in mine and we wandered 
into the moonlight. "Gypsy, I feel somehow the way 
I did the night we danced together. I want to go on 
and on ” 

"I don’t ever want to feel, Carley, that the part 
you played that night has left any regrets or un- 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 


181 


happiness for you in its trail/* I grasped his sleeve, 
anxiously questioning. 

The darky melody drifted nearer, then melted into 
soft caresses. Carley*s face went up to the scented 
breeze and his nostrils dilated as he took a long breath. 
‘T*m not a poet, little girl, but I am game — and I 
guess one ‘taste of heaven is worth an eternity of — 
well, the other place.** He held my arm closer and 
suddenly it was crushed against him. I tried to draw 
away. ‘Tt*s a beastly thing, Gypsy,’* his voice came 
brokenly; he looked down into my face, that was 
raised appealingly, and loosened his grip, “that a man 
has to show his love — when it*s the genuine article — 
in exactly the same way he’s used to dozens of chorus 
girls. It’s not fair either to him or to the girl.” 

In spite of a chill of dread I couldn’t help laughing 
at the frankness of the confession. “Perhaps,” I said 
warningly, “what he feels for her isn’t very different 
from what he has felt for them — a sort of intoxication 
brought about through unusual circumstances. Per- 
haps,” I hurried on, “it isn’t really love. Oh,” I 
clasped my hands as his lips moved in protest, “it 
can’t be. If it were he’d know instinctively that his 


18S PLAYING THE GAME 

speaking of it only made her miserable. Carley,” I 
pleaded, ‘‘don’t — don’t !” 

He turned away from me, but presently I felt the 
old reassuring, friendly clasp of his wiry hand. 

“Don’t you think,” I suggested tremblingly, “it 
would be — safer to go back and — play bridge?” 

We turned in the path and faced the house, and as 
I did so a cry caught on my lips. The moon shone 
with the certainty of a spotlight on the balcony where 
Dick had stolen with Dolly after her refusal to dance. 
It illumined against the sky the tableau of a woman 
held in a man’s arms, and within the long window 
behind them it fell slantwise across the figure of Grant 
Haywood. 

I stopped where I stood, for in a flash it had come 
to me that he was the man I had seen with Dolly in 
the conservatory the night of Nella’s dance, the same 
who had hurried past, his fur collar pulled up about 
his face, that day we had met her unexpectedly in the 
little French restaurant. 

Bewildered, I glanced toward Carley. He was gaz- 
ing straight ahead, his lips set firm, oblivious of the 
scene I had encountered. My eyes flew upward again. 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 


183 


Dolly had darted out of Dick’s arms and was looking 
about her suspiciously, evidently conscious of another 
presence. But Grant Haywood had disappeared. A 
moment later she and Dick left the balcony and when 
I reached the house with Carley they were before us 
in the hall. 

Perhaps it was because of what I had seen, perhaps 
the medley of suspicions crowding my brain, but later 
in the evening, when the stakes were running high and 
the roulette wheel was spinning fast and furious, I saw 
Nella’s father step close to Dolly’s side and whisper 
what from his expression might have been a command. 
They were at the outer edge of the throng about the 
wheel and Dolly looked up hurriedly, the laughter gone 
from her eyes. Never before had I seen fright in 
them. Then she caught up the lacy train of her gown, 
went softly across the hall and Grant Haywood fol- 
lowed her into the drawing-room. 

I went up to my room trying to sort the mad whirl 
of thoughts that sent my head spinning like the wheel 
I had just left. Grant Haywood was Dolly’s mysteri- 
ous companion of those two occasions when I had 
puzzled over his identity. And I had not even recog- 


184 PLAYING THE GAME 

nized him. Small wonder! What did it all mean? 
Who would have thought there could be anything clan- 
destine between Dolly and the man who, through his 
own daughter, had introduced her into our midst? 
That conversation I had overheard — surely it implied 
some secret understanding. But what? What could 
he have known of her and yet permitted her to take 
her place as Nella’s constant companion? I wandered 
helplessly in a maze that led me always back to where 
I had started. 

There was Dick, too — ^had Dolly given him some 
explanation? And Nella — oh, if only it had been she! 
I stopped in my tramp up and down the room, re- 
membering the look of realization on Nella’s face as 
the two had gone out together. Then I caught up a 
scarp and sped down the corridor to her room. No 
answer came to my knock and I opened the door 
hastily, a ridiculous fear clutching me. 

Nella was lying across the bed, still in her evening 
gown. I shall always think of the cream and rose 
of that room like the heart of a flower, the satin 
hangings and cushions, the exquisite luxury of its 
furnishings, the soundless rugs, the shaded lights of 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 185 

the dressing-table and Nella’s colorless face, her frail 
body in its filmy gown, a dead-white silhouette against 
the rich rose of the coverlet. She was such a picture 
of hopeless surrender. I bent over her. 

‘‘Gypsy!’' She opened her eyes dizzily. “I’ve sent 
Jeanne away so that I could be alone — to think things 
over.” She sat up and a little glass bottle rolled from 
her hand to the floor. 

I picked it up, then looked at Nella in startled ques- 
tion. The bottle contained small white tablets. 

“It’s nothing, dear,” she answered my unspoken 
query. “Just a tiny dose — a doctor’s prescription — 
to make me sleep. I haven’t had to take the stuff for 
— weeks. But to-night — well, I’m not quite fit.” 

“You’re not quite happy, Nella.” I slipped an arm 
about her and she sagged against me. “Tell me why.” 
But I knew too well. 

“Happiness I” Her slim, nervous hand waved away 
the possibility. “Do any of us know it? Why, if it 
came my way I’d probably close the door in its face 
and say it had come to the wrong house.” 

“It’s bound to come your way,” I said stolidly, re- 


186 PLAYING THE GAME 

assuring myself with the words. ‘'And when it does 
you’ll not fail to recognize it.” 

Nella leaned her head against my shoulder. “We 
may as well face it, Gypsy,” she said in a low voice. 
“We’re effete — empty shells. Qur lives are as arti- 
ficial as our complexions. How can we expect to find 
happiness in them?” 

I gulped hard. Then I tried to laugh. “At any 
rate, you and I ought not to be great sufferers. My 
complexion’s — almost all my own. Why, Nella, girl” 
— I raised her chin and looked into eyes heavy with 
tears — Nella’ s eyes that so seldom acknowledged such 
weakness — “to-morrow you’ll wake up and laugh at 
yourself for this ‘melancholy mood.’ ” 

“I’ll wake up,” she flung an arm across her face 
and sank out of my clasp on to the bed, “to a flood 
of congratulations and cheers. Billy’s won, Gypsy; I 
accepted him to-night. No, don’t say a thing,” as I 
sprang to my feet. “It was the only thing left — to 
do. You know it! Don’t let’s sham, dear. He at 
least loves me — that’s more than most people find in 
the world. Won’t you,” she sat up and stretched out 
her arms, “kiss me?” 


THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE 


187 


Instead I dropped to my knees at her side, and all 
the forces within me rebelled. ‘‘Nella, Dolly shan’t 
have Dick. I know she doesn’t deserve him and I 

won’t ” I paused, on the verge of pouring out the 

chain of discoveries that, after all, hadn’t links strong 
enough to hold them together. 

Nella caught my face between her palms and looked 
down at me courageously, with an attempt at a smile. 
‘‘There isn’t going to be any Dick in my life,” she 
answered slowly. “I’ve promised to be Mrs. Billy, 
you know.” 


CHAPTER X 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 

‘‘Billy’s a proud example of the fact that if you 
hold to the ship long enough you’re bound to sail into 
port.” We were seated under the tree preparatory to 
a luncheon al fresco, and Harry Keating, noticing my 
unusual lack of response to his usual pleasantries, had 
allowed his gaze to follow mine. The above was the 
direct result. 

Nella had come down the terrace steps with Billy 
Stewart, and the two were at once the center of a 
gushing stream of congratulation. 

Already festivities were in order. A telegram had 
been despatched to a costumer, and Dolly was plan- 
ning to make the vast lawns of Woodmar the setting 
of a Fete Champetre, such as the court of Marie 
Antoinette might have held. 

By evening the New York papers would have the 
188 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 189 

news of Nella^s engagement — Fd had enough experi- 
ence of them to know that. 

Yet, to me, it was all strangely unreal. Indifferent- 
ly I had watched dozens of girls doing the same thing 
in the same way and had given it no second thought. 
It was what was expected of them. But to have 
Nella, who, in spite of her cynicism, had secretly 
shared with me the few hopes that had managed to 
survive the struggle for existence, to see her dive into 
the matrimonial sea, like the rest, with a man she 
did not love — I could not bring myself to realize it! 

I had tried throughout half the night to hold her 
back, to convince her that she would be sure to rue 
the leap she was about to take. I had pleaded, im- 
plored. She had evidently fought the same battle with 
herself before I found her, a pale, wilted flower against 
the blushing background that seemed such a mocking 
promise of roses and happiness. 

Even had she wished to retract she would have 
found it difficult, for the beaming Billy had the news 
flashing in all directions by morning. And now, as I 
stared, only half believing, I felt the old Nella slipping 
away, as though that girl, with her carefully coiffed 


190 


PLAYING THE GAME 


head held high and a rigid smile on her tired lips, 
were another human being. 

^‘My dear, it’s too eternal to be interesting,” she 
had once said when I brought her the news of a fair 
debutante’s engagement to a millionaire who had just 
divorced a show girl. ‘The woman always loves the 
wrong man and marries the rich one. And the man — 
he loves too often to love at all.” 

I had known she didn’t really mean it, but how she 
would have challenged me had I told her then that 
she would follow in lockstep with other prisoners of 
convention. 

Why was marriage demanded of every girl as if she 
were an automaton, to be dressed in the latest style of 
wedding gown, wound up and sent trotting up the 
aisle to meet that which had been selected for her? 
Why had Nella resigned herself to it as if life held 
no other possibility? I felt miserably apart with my 
absurd theories. But beneath the loneliness I knew 
the fear clutching me, a dread that eventually I should 
come upon myself taking the same step. 

It was rather a good thing that Baron de Berenzig 
had the day before so unexpectedly raised a flag of 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 191 


truce and offered above it the hand of friendship. In 
the face of Nella's sudden surrender I might have 
found myself weakening had he continued his untiring 
siege of the last months. It was a relief to meet his 
eyes, as I did now, without feeling in them a fire 
kindled to order specially for the purpose of making 
me hot and uncomfortable. 

He stood just within the drooping willow boughs 
that shaded our little group. The dazzling light of 
midday cut through the gray flannel of his coat and 
outlined the careful curves of his figure, contrasting 
it oddly with the ease of Carley and Harry Keating, 
both of whom lounged in positions most convenient 
to the moment, while Cissy Trane stretched at length 
on the ground, putting her latest little French bull 
through a series of dancing paces, his two front paws 
perched on her long fingers. The Algy Tranes always 
traveled with at least three dogs — one to guard, one 
to adorn, and one to amuse. 

‘‘Since Nella’s taken the lead,'' observed Perry Will- 
ing, “it will be perfectly decent for any one of us to 
bag his game while we’ve got the time and place to 
do it." He raised his pink baby face from the depths 


192 PLAYING THE GAME 

of a low garden chair and grinned significantly at the 
baron. 

Baron de Berenzig shrugged inquiringly with a fine 
play at non-comprehension. 

Perry glanced at me. I flicked an imaginary speck 
of dust from my skirt with the tip of my sunshade. 

‘The trouble is,” he went on with a grimace, “we’ve 
got too many pairs here that belong to one another. 
Unfortunate oversight, I call it, and beastly bad form 
— having husband and wife in the same house at the 
same time. There’s Johnny van Tiel — how much hap- 
pier he’d be if Taggy-Stew were here instead of Mrs. 
Johnny ! Nella owes it to us to provide something to 
talk about on the side. A mere engagement — ^pshaw! 
What’s a house party for, anyway?” He tucked a 
pillow behind his head and lounged back, satisfied with 
himself. “Your country wouldn’t be guilty of such a 
faux pas, would it, baron?” he added. 

The baron bowed as before superior knowledge. 
“My country would not be guilty of speaking about it, 
my friend.” 

The other, for a moment, was unequal to the re- 
buff or to the chuckle of amusement that met it. He 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 193 

pushed aside a leafy branch and looked out of our 
retreat. Then he found a happy means of retaliation. 
His eyes came back — eyes that were always a shock, 
green and narrow like a cat’s, in a pink-and-white 
face held up by an immeasurable, choking collar. “Any 
way, it is going to be dead. Gypsy’s given us the only 
fun worth the name this winter. How long is it since 
the Ham Warren soiree? We were talking about it 
last week at the club — how her fame was made that 
night.” 

The baron reddened. So, alas, did I. I dreaded 
for an instant some tender little intimation such as 
I had come to expect from him. But he merely bowed 
gallantly. “The fame of a beautiful woman, I should 
have thought, would know neither a date of beginning 
nor end.” 

Cissy Trane gave a very perceptible giggle and lit 
a kiss on what there was of her dog’s squat nose. 
“When you grow up, my Beauty, I’m going to let 
you take lessons in compliments from some nice for- 
eigner.” She started to get up — it was always an 
interesting spectacle, like watching a skyscraper in 
the course of construction, growing story by story 


194 


PLAYING THE GAME 


until you wonder if there’s ever going to be an end. 
When she finally reached a definite height she caught 
Beauty in the crook of her arm and took a step beyond 
the trailing boughs that half closed us in. Then, with 
a low whistle, she motioned to Perry over her shoulder. 
I happened to be sitting with the view of the lawn 
partly cut off, but as she turned my eyes strayed after 
her. 

Up from the sunken garden came Dick, with Dolly’s 
flushed face almost resting against his shoulder, un- 
conscious, both of them, of the several pairs of eyes 
taking count. I had seen them an hour or so before, 
going toward the squash court, but Dolly’s appear- 
ance now did not suggest an energetic game unless 
perhaps one considered the tumbled condition of her 
hair. No, decidedly, that scene on the balcony the 
night before had been deemed worthy of repetition. 
As they drew nearer the terrace and within full view 
of those under the trees Dolly tripped away as though 
Nella and Billy and the chatter like the buzz of mos- 
quitoes about them were of far greater moment than 
her companion. 

I saw my brother look wonderingly after her and a 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 195 
puzzled frown darkened his face. Dolly apparently 
held something of mystery even to him. It appears to 
be the one quality in woman that succeeds in melting 
men of iron as well as molasses. And I dare say the 
lack of it in their wives is what frequently sends those 
who are quite a commonplace cross between the two 
prostrating themselves before goddesses far less 
worthy of worship. 

I heard Perry murmur; “there's going to be 
something doing after all. Hope it’ll be worth the 
price of admission.” 

That evening I went to Dolly’s room, all my haunt- 
ing suspicion of her clamoring for satisfaction. It 
was the moment between dressing and dinner. She 
was pacing restlessly up and down as I entered, her 
head bent, the gray veil over her cloth of silver gown 
floating from shoulders and train like a vanishing mist. 
A single red opal glowed among the folds at her 
breast like a smoldering sun in the fog of a London 
winter day. Somehow she seemed more somber than 
the Dolly I had come to know. 

But her “Hello!” and bright laugh of welcome an 
instant later quickly dispelled the illusion. I dropped 


196 PLAYING THE GAME 

into a chair, wondering how to begin and wishing 
heartily that I’d been given some of my mother’s in- 
itiative. Dolly subsided on the stool before her dress- 
ing-table, lit a cigarette and looked at me over twink- 
ling tip. 

‘Well, Gypsy Eyes,” she smiled interrogatively, 
“you look distraite — as though you were lost in Won- 
derland. Is it a man again?” 

“No” — I sprang into the opening with an audacity 
Dolly herself must have approved — “it’s a woman. 
I’m wondering who you are,” I said. 

She leaned back against the dressing-table and sent 
forth peal after peal of laughter until her very curls 
bobbed delightedly. “Do you know,” she amazed me 
by gurgling at last, “I’ve often wondered why you 
didn’t ask that question long ago. I haven’t expected 
it of Nella. She knows so much more about people 
than is comfortable that ignorance is a delightfully 
novel experience. But you — I’ve been feeling those 
black eyes looking through and through me for 
weeks ” 

I made a quick gesture of denial, in spite of which 
Dolly’s head nodded emphatically. 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 197 


*‘Oh, yes, they have! IVe been waiting to surprise 
the question in them.” 

‘‘Now look here, Dolly/^ I tried to remonstrate, 
'^the minute the question came to me I put it frankly 
to you. You can’t disprove that.” 

*'Let me see” — five coquettish rings coiled them- 
selves one by one from her dimpling mouth and were 
sent meditatively heavenward — '1 think the exact date 
of its arrival was the day I met you and Nella and 
Dick and our stem legal friend at the Petit Paris. I 
could see it then peeping from under your lashes.” 

“No,” I put in boldly, “I was asking myself then 
about the man you were with — the one who hurried 
off and left you to us.” 

I looked at her closely. All my doubt of Her de- 
pended on the answer, for I did not tell her I already 
knew the man to be Grant Haywood. For the space 
of a breath the two fingers holding her cigarette con- 
tracted suddenly so that it hung limp and dead be- 
tween them. Then after studying me intently her eyes 
met mine with a frank smile. “I thought you must 
have recognized him as Nella’s Daddy Haywood. 
Why should there be any mystery about it? I wanted 


198 PLAYING THE GAME 

to invest some money and, as I know a bit less about 
such things than I do of — say, dancing, we met that 
day to talk it over. I was staying with Nella at the 
time, you know, and Grant Haywood is, well, hardly 
a welcome guest at the Penning establishment. So I 
agreed to have luncheon with him at some quiet place 
not likely to be frequented by Mrs. Grundy. Fve never 
understood” — a delicate wrinkle marred the smooth- 
ness of her brow — ‘‘why he ran away as he did. It 
was — so absolutely unnecessary.” 

“But there was another time — Fve always wanted 

to confess to you, Dolly ” And I tried to piece 

together for her the remnants of conversation over- 
heard that night I had come upon them in the Hay- 
wood conservatory. “You said you had succeeded in 
something or other and that they — whoever ‘they’ may 
be — would never guess,” I ended. 

Dolly’s eyes strayed from mine, but came back pres- 
ently, a sparkle in them. “I suppose Fll have to make 
full confession, little inquisitor, and that will answer 
your first question at the same time. I met Grant 
Haywood three years ago when I happened to be stay- 
ing at Colorado Springs with friends who knew him. 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 199 

I was a little nobody then, trying to affect mourning 
for a man years older than myself whom Fd been tied 
to before I knew better. We’d traveled from San 
Francisco, which was his home, around the world, but 
I hadn’t ever lived as I wanted to, with life tingling 
through me and dancing out of my very fingers and 
toes. As a girl Fd been at a convent near Paris, and 
they used to twit me there with the prophecy that my 
dancing tendencies would land me at the Folies 
Bergere. But instead they’ve taken me into the heart 
of little Gotham, and you’ll laugh, Gypsy, when you 
learn how. 

‘'We were arguing one night at the Springs about 
New York society, and I ventured the opinion that it 
wasn’t quite so inaccessible as it tried to make the 
big outside world believe. Nella’s Daddy Haywood, 
of course, being a favored member of the favored few, 
didn’t agree. ‘Give one enough of money or origi- 
nality,’ I maintained, ‘and decent table manners (pro- 
viding he hasn’t the money) and let him not seem too 
anxious — why, I could even dance my way in,’ I fin- 
ished, looking at it in the light of a joke. To my 
surprise, he took me seriously. He said there was no 


200 


PLAYING THE GAME 


reason why I shouldn’t, of course, but that even with 
an introduction from him I’d find it tremendously dif- 
ficult. And I challenged him then and there to give 
me the chance. He promised to the next time I came 
to Gotham. It was all done in a spirit of fun, but — 
well, here I am, dear. It has been a success — and 
how I’ve loved it !” She started up and flung her arms 

about me. “There isn’t a corner of life hidden ” 

Then she stopped suddenly, her face buried against 
my shoulder. 

“But Monsieur Geraud,” I added, feeling that, now 
I had her in the confessional way, Dolly must have 
more to tell, “hasn’t he met you once •” 

“Where?” She started back, arms still linked about 
my neck. Then: “Oh,” she shrugged, “it is more 
than likely* he may have seen a portrait of me at the 
studio of a friend of his. I posed for a cunning little 
Frenchman in Paris years ago, and when we refused to 
buy the picture he threatened to exhibit it, with or 
without my permission. I vowed then,” she went on 
slowly, seeming to weigh each word, “that I’d never 
pose again. And I haven’t, have I?” She laughed. 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 201 

‘literally or figuratively. That's why I refused 
Geraud. You — must have — wondered." 

‘T did,” was my confession. “Have you — told all 
this to — any one else?" 

“Dear little Gypsy !" She raised my chin and looked 
deep until I felt that she, not I, was the inquisitor. 
“You’re the most transparent little piece of honesty 
that’s ever come my way. Is there anybody in the 
world you love better than Nella and brother Dick?" 

I could feel myself coloring violently. She had 
read my purpose from the very beginning! 

'But, believe me," she added, “Nella will be happier 
with Billy. He adores her." Her voice took on the 
somber hue of her gown. “You’re going to have a 
big and terrible moment, Gypsy, and those eyes are 
going to burn furiously some day when they look life 
squarely in the face and see that it’s mocking them all 
the while. Unless in the meantime they’ve learned to 
laugh back." 

Afterward, when that “big moment" held me in its 
grip, Dolly’s words floated back and in themselves 
seemed to mock me. But now her serious little air of 
philosophy merely revealed another charm at her com- 


PLAYING THE GAME 


mand. In fact, this golden bird was so fascinating 
that it was not until several days later that I realized 
she had not given me one word, during all our mutual 
confessions, to which I could point my finger as a 
definite statement. Though perfectly satisfied, I had 
left her with very little of the information Pd set out 
to acquire. 

In the batch of telegrams and letters that arrived 
the following day, Nella received a lilac-scented, 
mauve-tinted note conveying Evelyn Taghern-Stew- 
ard’s congratulations and the news that she and Jimmy 
would drop off at Woodmar on their way to Aiken. 
There had been no invitation, but that, as Perry had 
said, was an oversight which Evelyn appeared quite 
ready to remedy. Nella expressed some surprise that 
she was bringing Jimmy, since her expedition was 
undoubtedly in the cause of Johnny van Tiel. Yet 
Evelyn’s husband was a safeguard as well as encum- 
brance. 

They came in time for the fete that Dolly had ar- 
ranged. The colonial beauty of Woodmar had given 
itself extravagantly as a background to the costumes. 

Gleaming marble nymphs and satyrs dotted the lawn 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 203 

and shone laughing among the trees. Slim, white 
columns, glistening through heavy foliage, told where 
pavilions were hidden. Arbors roofed with moss and 
trailing curtains of roses formed a shaded walk. From 
the foot of the slope, Woodmar’s lake winked coquet- 
tishly, hiding its artificiality under the subtle magic 
of that twilight hour when all nature seems unreal. 

IPs odd how a woman’s troubles vanish when she 
finds herself in fancy dress, ofifset by rouge and black- 
ing she doesn’t have to conceal. My blue satin slip- 
pers flashed their red heels audaciously, a white petti- 
coat peeped from between hoopy silken paniers that 
caught my waist in an embrace not always comfortable. 
I felt I might be any of the flirts in Marie Antoinette’s 
train, or even one of Fragonard’s saucy, painted ladies 
who could tilt her foot and drop a shoe on the slight- 
est provocation. The Gypsy of modern woes disap- 
peared into the future. I was my own great-great- 
grandmother transplanted, and Woodmar was the 
Petit Trianon. 

Twilight graciously veiled the artifice that made us 
all beautiful. Eyes busied themselves over fans, and 
beaux in patches and powder whispered sweet noth- 


£04 


PLAYING THE GAME 


ings indiscriminately, while a company of professionals 
from town danced reckless rigadoons and rippled 
dainty chansons. 

Baron de Berenzig leaned against the marble base 
of a piping Pan and looked down on my powdered 
head. “Here one must speak French.'' He suited the 
action to the word. “No other tongue suits the set- 
ting. It is the language of laughter — ^and of love. A 
hundred years ago," he sighed over my fan, “I would 
not have been forced by a cruel lady to substitute 
friendship for the joy of these." 

“A hundred years ago you would not have found a 
lady who knew what friendship was. Love was so 
ordinary a thing that one tossed it like a ball from 
one gallant to another — this way!" I sent a dazzling 
smile at the first man that crossed my path. Jimmy 
Taghern-Steward, to whom French was a dead lan- 
guage, immediately flopped to the grass beside me, his 
face on a very near level to mine. “You see," I 
laughed at the baron, “how easy it is I" 

“Will you toss it to me next?" He bent toward me 
eagerly. “No, no," as I drew myself erect in rigid 
reminder, “not as I have wished — ^to have and keep 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 205 

it always — ^but as the game of a century ago, to be 
sent back to you or on the next at a word.’’ 

*^No, my friend,” and I thought of Carley, ^^that 
is far too dangerous a game to be quite safe to-day.” 

"1 say, Gypsy,” came in Jimmy’s drawl, ''d’you call 
that fair? Bringing a chap over here, then ^parley- 
vouing’ as if he didn’t belong in this world. If a fel- 
low’s wife’s always trotting off with some other fool, 
he’d like to have his friends know he’s alive, anyway.” 

‘Why doesn’t he — trot” — the baron frowned over 
the word — “himself, and make her a bit jealous?” 

“She wouldn’t care if he did,” Jimmy moaned. We 
were all hardened to Jimmy’s groanings over Evelyn — 
they had become a chronic complaint. “How can a 
man think of trotting, anyhow,” he added, “when all 
the padding’s transferred from his shoulders to his 
calves. It may be pretty, but it’s confounded uncom- 
fortable !” 

The baron laughed and I flirted a red-heeled slipper 
a la Fragonard. “Nonsense, Jimmy, you could do a 
minuet right here and now with me; you know you 
could.” 

Jimmy primed himself and squared his unpadded 


206 PLAYING THE GAME 

shoulders under their coat of plum satin. ‘^Could I!” 
he cried. “Well, rather, Miss Bright Eyes! Just try 
me.” 

I gave a laughing shrug for the baron’s benefit. 
“You see,” I said, enigmatically to the other, no doubt, 
“it’s almost too easy — ^to be interesting.” Then I 
sprang up and gave a hand to Jimmy. 

The professional dancers had given way to prepara- 
tions for a quadrille on the lawn, but as Jimmy and 
I started off with the first steps of a minuet, the musi- 
cians tuned their instruments to an accompaniment and 
we held the center of the stage. A moment we had it 
to ourselves, then Dolly, a Watteau shepherdess, 
stepped down from the mantel, and Perry, a gay rake 
in cerise and buff, joined us, and we bowed and curte- 
sied, our eyes gong faster than our feet. 

I was quite lost in the joy of it — the soft arch 
of the sky with its melting twilight glow, the dizzy 
perfumed breezes with their voice of music, the poetry 
of movement itself — when a titter broke the spell. 

“So now it’s Jimmy,” was wafted toward me in the 
unmistakable treble of Cissy Trane. “How much 
further do you think it’s going to go? There ought to 


GYPSY MAKES A RECKLESS MOVE 207 

be safety in numbers, and I said it wouldn’t take long 

for her ” And the voice drifted away into the 

trees. 

I knew instinctively that she was going off to look 
for Evelyn Taghern-Steward. I stopped short. Others 
had, of course, heard her as well as I. The fun of the 
dance had vanished. The red-satin heels were like 
weights of hot iron. It was more than evident I had 
gained a reputation I was expected to uphold, and 
every innocent move was bound to be misinterpreted. 

There seemed only one thing to do, after all — to 
marry as Nella was doing, and earn the right to have 
any kind of reputation. It wasn’t an exactly happy 
outlook, but it appeared to be the only safe one. 

“Don’t be a little idiot,” Dolly whispered as she 
passed me. “Go on dancing. They’re all watching.” 
She had heard, too. 

I flung up my head defiantly as through the crowd 
I caught Evelyn’s wide grin. She should see that I 
was not afraid! 

But afterward I crumpled to the ground. Was I 
always to be stumbling, whatever step I attempted to 
take? 


CHAPTER XI 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 

‘‘And after all that went on at Woodmar I should 
advise you '' 

“Mother, how many times must I assure you that 
nothing went on at Woodmar the whole world couldn’t 
know about ?” It was a full five weeks since my return 
from the South, and every day of all that time the 
same subject had been discussed in the same way. 

“The whole world does know — that is the point. 
And the minute the van Tiel divorce is a settled thing 
it will learn still more. If Evelyn has made up her 
mind to marry John van Tiel she’ll see that it’s accom- 
plished without reflecting on herself.” 

“But, mother” — I turned to her imploringly— “I 
give you my word, all I did was to dance on the lawn 
with Jimmy the night of the fete ” 

“And flirt with him openly before, during and after 
208 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 


209 


the dance! How often have I told you no girl can 
afford to do that sort of thing? I should say youVe 
already enjoyed quite enough notoriety, but of course 
I realized long ago my wishes meant little or nothing.’^ 
I looked out of the brougham window and sighed 
wearily. “After the dance, Jimmy sat next to me at 
supper and we talked about how nice country parties 
were, where you pay attention to your food instead 
of to your neighbor, as one has to in the city. Ro- 
mantic, isn't it?" The humorous side of the case still 
presented itself. 

“You should have seen to it that Evelyn and every- 
body else knew what you were talking about. She 
intimates that you monopolized her husband after hav- 
ing deliberately called him over to you early in the 
evening, and that it was all done shamefully in the 

open with no attempt " 

“I should think that would prove to her conclusively 
how innocent it was." 

“She’ll make it prove whatever she pleases. And 
it suits her purpose now to turn every move on her 
husband’s part to her advantage. If she can make 


210 PLAYING THE GAME 

use of you in the course of events she won’t hesitate, 

and you’ll have yourself to thank.” 

I smiled at the thought of Jimmy Taghern-Steward 
and me — even the idea of a flirtation was too ridicu- 
lous. 

“She’ll have no further excuse, I promise you,” I 
answered, but without enthusiasm. I was growing 
so tired of being constantly on my guard. 

“I think, my dear” — ^my mother’s voice grew softer 
but mingled a shade of irony with satisfaction — “you’ll 
soon begin to realize I was not the ogress you chose 
to believe me in doing my best to have you accept a 
suitable husband when he presented himself. It might 
be well to arrive at that conclusion before it’s too late 
for you to get one. I warn you, after all this talk 
that’s being circulated about you, you’ll wake up next 
year to find yourself passee. It’s not the most charm- 
ing awakening, either, when the girl might have walked 
off with a brilliant catch.” 

Her advice came back to me later in the Indian 
room at the Steve Craigs’ with an outburst from Car- 
ley, a tumble of love and protestation and apology 
sweeping over me with the force of a cataract. I sat 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 


211 


trembling like a criminal at the bar, brought at last 
face to face with what my folly had wrought. 

‘‘I know I haven’t the right, but I can’\t help it. I 
love you, dear — I loved you even before that night 
you asked me to come into the game with you. Yes, 
I did,” as I shook my head, refusing to accept the 
immunity he offered. “It’s not your fault. From 
the very beginning I went into it guessing that you 

wanted to play me against the baron ” 

“But I didn’t, Carley. I wanted you to save me 
from him. You know that now, don’t you?” 

“I know that when I was put to it I wasn’t game. 
Gypsy, when I read that announcement of your en- 
gagement to him I knew I was a quitter, that even 
though you’d put it up to me as a sporting chance I 
wasn’t equal to losing like a man.” 

“It was the sudden romance of the thing that went 
to your head. I warned you it had that night at the 
Ham Warrens’. From then on I’ve never forgiven 
myself.” I stretched out my hands to him. “Carley, 
you don’t really love me. You’ll surely regret this 
some day if I were to let myself believe you. Why, 
we’ve known each other just as boy and girl all our 


212 PLAYING THE GAME 

lives!” But it was done to reassure myself. Deep 
down came thumping the self-accusation that laid his 
unhappiness, however passing it might be, at my door. 

To my surprise Carley appeared not to have heard. 
He grasped my outstretched hands and drew closer. 
^^And it isn’t the baron?” he asked eagerly. “You 
seemed to be pals again at Woodman” 

“It’s so little the baron that being friends again 
merely indicates that we’re never going to be any- 
thing more.” 

And then Carley brought me up with a question as 
inexorable as it was startling. “If it isn’t the baron, 
Gypsy, girl, tell me, who is the man ?” 

I looked at him, expecting one of his boyish smiles 
to relieve the situation, but “What a preposterous 
ideal” I exclaimed, seeing that he was in deadly ear- 
nest. “Why, what could have made you think ” 

“Because I know that if there wasn’t somebody else 
I could make you love me. I’m not half good enough, 
but you couldn’t help it, dear, if you knew how 

much ” He finished by crushing my hands to his 

lips. 

“Carley,” I struggled, the words choking me, “there 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 


213 


isn’t anybody else. There isn’t — anybody. And this 
miserable affair has carried you off your feet. It’s 
made you imagine all sorts of things, but if you want 

me this way, if you want to marry me ” I broke 

off hysterically. My head went down into the pillows 
of the divan and I found myself sobbing in great hard 
gulps with Carley’s arms half about me, his head 
pressed to mine. 

^^Gypsy, Gypsy, I’m a cad, a beast! Listen, dear. 
I’m never going to bother you again. Only,” he fin- 
ished wildly, “if there is no one else, Gypsy ” 

He lifted me so that my head fell back against his 
shoulder and held me close to him. After a second 
I ceased to struggle. I had taken so much from Carley 
and had so little to give in return. But his face as he 
released me was an unconscious reproach I shall never 
forget. In it were all the longing, all the boy’s suf- 
fering I was sure he had never before experienced, 
and I hated myself for having been the one to bring 
them to him. 

“Forgive me — I couldn’t help it, dear.” He turned 
from me, a catch in his voice. “You know how I 
uieant it”— he must have felt the tears choking me. 


214 


PLAYING the' game 


for, ‘^After all,” he added, with a short laugh, 
wasn’t like — those others I told you about at Wood- 
mar!” 

That relieved the tension somewhat, and I laughed 
with him, a little huskily, no doubt, but a laugh just 
the same. 

When we left our corner it was to discover Evelyn 
and her attendant Johnny in a cosier one at the far 
end of the room, apparently too engrossed in each 
other to have noticed us. They started up when we 
came within seeing distance, and Evelyn asked, with 
a glistening smile that made her eyes look like creme 
de menthe, whether I was finding life as interesting 
in town as it had been at Woodman And then Johnny 
poked Carley’s ribs and said fatuously he hadn’t 
thought Carley was the sort to step aside for any 
man. It was the same old ugly, sordid game, played 
in the same old way — a pair trying to distract atten- 
tion from themselves by directing it to others. I was 
deadly tired of watching it, but the possibilities my 
mother had painted in such lurid colors held me play- 
ing back with a weak imitation of Evelyn’s bravado. 

‘Wou insatiable little man eater,” she persisted; 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 215 

“first it’s one, then another, and now you’re causing 
my poor Johnny sleepless nights. I ought to be in- 
sanely jealous.” Her voice went up a scale or two as 
several who might form a useful audience drifted into 
the room. “Why, ever since Woodmar he hasn’t 
known lobster from tripe, and you can guess from that 
how bad it is with him.” 

I don’t know just how far my answer would have 
carried me — I was burning to deliver the truth, white 
hot — but Nella came unexpectedly to my rescue. “I 
heard that last,” she called on her way across the 
room, “and if it’s as bad as all that, Evelyn, I’d give 
Jimmy my personal attention.” There was the slight- 
est possible accent on the “personal” — it was as beau- 
tifully pointed as a rapier. 

“Be careful of Evelyn,” she managed to whisper 
when we had a moment together. “She’s more dan- 
gerous than your baron.” 

But I was fast arriving at the point where I should 
cease to care. What did it matter if I was to be 
caught up in the current any way, to be played with, 
made sport of, sent crashing up against the rocks, drag- 
ging along others who cared for me — like Carley — 


216 


PLAYING THE GAME 


and being tossed at last upon the shore a ragged, tom 
nothing ! Perhaps I had been a little fool not to allow 
my mother to lead me to safety. 

“Pm tired of having everything I do go wrong,” 
I said to Nella a few days after her warning. ‘T 
must have been born to the tune of a funeral march — 
a failure from the very beginning. And I thought 
myself a fighter!” 

‘‘You are, dear, and you’ll keep on fighting to the 
death. Don’t let them pull you down, Gypsy, whatever 
the rest of us do. I was meant for just what I’m 
doing, to drift with the tide into the first man’s arms 
that opened to me. It took me a long time to realize 
it. I may have had some silly dreams, but now I’m 
content. I’ve belonged to two families too long not 
to want a haven of my own. But you, you were bom 
for something big, dear, either a big man or a big 
purpose^ — I haven’t decided just which. At any rate, 
it wasn’t to be a victim of circumstances or blue devils. 
You’ve simply got to come out on top. Meanwhile,” 
she dragged me out of the depths of a chair into which 
I had fallen, “come along and help me look over some 
pictures — Enrique has sent a notice to Billy that he’s 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 217 

just gotten a heap from Paris; some artist who died 
carelessly when people were beginning to discover what 
a wonder he was. Monsieur Geraud has promised to 
stop in and look them over when I’ve made my selec- 
tion. I told him I’d order a portrait if he would, but 
he’s busy now with the tableaux Lady Chale-Gardner 
is getting up for some of her pet English charities. I 
can’t quite see why these women who expatriate think 
it’s their duty to come over here and rob us annually 
to relieve hard times in London. She’s sent me fifty 
tickets and I suppose I’ve got to take them or be 
talked about.” All this was being poured into my ear 
in an unusually brisk tone for Nella, as we went down 
the stairs to the waiting motor. ^‘Hasn’t she done any- 
thing to you ?” she finished naively as we stepped in. 

‘'Oh, yes,” I laughed over my shoulder. "I’ve been 
‘done’ to the extent of being one of the tableaux. La 
Tosca, I think, if they can find an appropriate Scarpia. 
I’ll know to-morrow afternoon. There’s a rehearsal 
on at Cissy Trane’s.” 

Nella made a nest of the gray cloth cushions and 
dropped into it. ‘‘Well, I suppose it’s worth the price. 
These public affairs are a better exhibition ground than 


218 


PLAYING THE GAME 


the Horse Show. You’ll probably have some chorus 
girl or opera star to teach you the art of makeup — as 
if most of us couldn’t give them lessons — and tableaux 
are such excellent blinds for — other things. Be care- 
ful who’s your Scarpia ; he’d better be a safe one. They 
wanted Dolly for Manon and she refused. She’s so 
odd lately — ^liave you noticed how little she’s been 
dancing? She’ll find herself on the wane if she’s not 
careful. I wonder, Gypsy, why she and Dick 
haven’t She left the sentence for me to com- 

plete. 

“I’ve stopped wondering about Dolly,” I confessed. 
“She’s as elusive as a shadow.” I looked out of the 
window at the line of shops crowding each other along 
the avenue. 

Nella’s glance followed mine, though unseeing. “I 
don’t imagine Dick’s found her so,” she speculated. 
“It’s been pretty evident they’re mad about each other.” 

“Then do you think there’s another reason ” I 

turned about sharply. “Is there some one, perhaps, 
with power over Dolly to keep them apart?” But I 
asked myself if Nella suspected, as I did, that Grant 
Haywood himself was in love with Dolly and held 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 


219 


some means of preventing her from marrying, until 
arrangements could be made with the present Mrs. 
Haywood that would leave him free to make the offer. 

Nella’s smile was enigmatic. “Fve learned not to 
ask myself questions that might lead into deep water. 
The shallows are so much safer.” 

When we arrived at Enrique’s the art dealer him- 
self ushered us into the private showroom reserved 
for his particular patrons. He was an American, but 
made a tremendous show at being French, like many 
of our dressmakers, his command of the language being 
chiefly in the use of his hands and the tips of his waxed 
mustache. 

An assistant brought out one canvas after another, 
a laughing Rembrandt, a sedate Sir Peter Lely, a 
Corot, largely trees and price ; or, again, a rare Rotari 
Madonna with large, soft Italian eyes. And all the 
while the dealer stood by mechanically rubbing his 
hands, mechanically smiling, mechanically pointing out 
the wonders of each. I couldn’t help thinking as I 
watched that any one so well trained should have deco- 
rated a ballroom instead of an art shop. 

, After these treasures had been exhibited he sent his 


220 PLAYING THE GAME 

man into an adjoining cabinet. '‘And zese zat I will 
now show you, madame, zey are from Rene Perron. 
Pauvre homme, to die when all France begin to know 

him. You will find him of a genius. Ah, madame ” 

He raised his hands expressively as the assistant placed 
on an easel a landscape bathed in sunlight. "Superb, 
n’est ge pas ? But wait, viola !” He flourished a hand 
outward, introducing a second picture. " 'La Dan- 
seuse!' Is it not perfection — zose draping, zat foot, 
ze eye? Zat, madame, was at ze Salon some years 
ago,*’ he rambled on, but neither Nella nor I heard. 

We were staring into each other’s eyes across his 
bald head, the terror I felt reflected in her face. For 
it was Dolly who laughed provokingly out of the 
canvas at us! Dolly, poised on the toe of one slip- 
pered foot, the other pointed at us from an abbrevi- 
ated swirl of gauze that answered for a skirt. 

Yet, after a moment I smiled. Had she not danced 
for us a dozen times in costumes not so very different 
and been flattered by countless imitators among the 
women of our world? This was probably the picture 
she had told me about, and this Perron the Frenchman 
who had threatened to exhibit if she did not buy it. 



“some pretty romance of TPIE QUARTIER IT WAS^ 

VOLUNTEERED FACETIOUSLY. 


NO doubt/' he 
Page 221 


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.a 


Ul^l A,’-- r 

>v ■ ■ ■ ^ 



■ ■ •-- '-^n' t ' '.. I- ' . 

fA ? ■u i/' j ■, ■ - ■/. . ■ 





SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 

‘‘I like that one/’ I nodded, breaking into Enrique’s 
rhapsodies. 

“It is a professional dancer, perhaps?” Nella asked 
with indifferent interest. 

“One cannot say, madame,” the dealer shrugged. 
“Zere are more of ze same model.” He called a sec- 
ond man, who helped the other to lift a larger canvas 
into place. “Some pretty romance of the Quartier, 
it was no doubt,” he volunteered facetiously. 

But now my smile stiffened and froze so that I 
felt my face held in a vise. Again it was Dolly who 
smiled upon us, but this time it was from the crest 
of a wave, as Monsieur Geraud had once fancied her, 
with hair all unbound and her only mantle, save where 
the green waters curled gently about and over her. 
She might have been a Venus, like those of Cabanel 
in the Luxembourg of Paris and our own Metropolitan, 
being welcomed into the world. 

Nella stood rigidly attentive, demanding to see all 
he had. There was Dolly veiled in tulle, Dolly a dryad 
on a grassy slope, and Dolly a mortal draped in cling- 
ing satin. The features were not always true, and 
others might not have recognized her without the first 


222 


PLAYING THE GAME 


pictures as an introduction. But to Nella and to me, 
as our eyes glued themselves on each of the five as 
it was revealed, one thing became certain. There may 
have been some doubt as to whether she had been a 
professional dancer; there could be none that Dolly 
had been a professional model. 

‘‘Are there any more of her?” Nella asked when the 
last had been shown — and I marveled at her coolness. 
“Is there any one else in town ” 

The dealer interrupted, protesting he had all of Per- 
ron's pictures that had come to America, and showed 
us by the date on these that they had been done nine 
years before, all within the same year. Nella ordered 
them sent at once to the Haywood residence to be left 
until her selection had been made. 

“I had to send them there,” she whispered unevenly 
when we were in the motor. “No one but Daddy Hay- 
wood must see them, and with Mrs. H away — 

Gypsy, do you think he knew ?” she broke off. “Pve 
got to see him to-day and find out. Will you 'phone 
to him when I drop you, and leave a message if you 
can't get him, saying that he must communicate with 
me before to-night — ^that it's most important, Gypsy ?” 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN 223 

She shook my arm. “Do you. think he could have 
known 

“I don't know — I don't know," I moaned child- 
ishly. 

As a matter of fact I was too bewildered to separate 
one thought from another. Only one thing I did know 
— I couldn't wait to see Dick and tell him of my dis- 
covery. I scarcely took the time to learn that Grant 
Haywood had not yet reached his office and to leave 
Nella's message. I did not even hesitate when my maid 
reminded me of a dressmaker appointment within the 
hour, the breaking of which would mean an old gown 
to a new ball. I was in a cab and giving the address 
of Dick's office, I was tearing down the avenue at 
breakneck speed, without wasting a moment to think 
things over. 

I had darted into the big building that hummed 
with life like a beehive and was making for the ele- 
vator when I encountered an obstacle that proved to 
be Miss Cavanagh, the young newspaper woman who 
had come into my life under such memorable circum- 
stances. 

“This is a coincidence," she said when we had apolo- 


PLAYING THE GAME 


gized for bumping, recognized each other and ex- 
changed hasty greetings. ‘T was going to write to-day 
and ask a favor of you. I’m doing a special magazine 
story and need some points I know you can give me. 
If you could spare me just a few minutes ” 

She made the suggestion quite au c. matter of course, 
without any intimation of my indebtedness to her. 
But I had not forgotten, in spite of having early been 
taught that persons not on my social plane must be 
ignored when no further use could, be made of them. 
We named an hour for the following Saturday morn- 
ing, and then I was shot upward while she disappeared 
to be snatched up and gulped down by the monster 
mass of workers below. 

There was a little private reception-room between 
my brother’s office and Robert’s Stead’s, and, giving 
the boy my name, I went in there to wait until Dick 
should be disengaged. Before long it was evident that 
his door facing me was open a tiny space, for the 
mumble of voices and presently a word or two floated 
out to me. I was hesitating whether to shut it and let 
them know they could be overheard when the voices 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOWN ^25 

grew more distinct, and Dick’s tense with pain, reached 
me : 

“I tell you I won’t believe it! What do you take 
me for ? She’s been a guest under your own roof ” 

‘‘Precisely,” came in suave, smooth tones that I 
confess I strained forward to catch; “that’s a neat 
way of putting it. A guest, as you say, living on my 
bounty, supported, clothed, jeweled by me ” 

“A guest of your daughter!” Dick hammered out 
each word. “Do you want to tell me you are cur 
enough ” 

“My dear boy, calm yourself. Yes, that was the 
one unfortunate move I had to make, though I thought 
no one but myself would ever know of it. I have been 
forced into a most unpleasant position by a woman 
I considered clever enough to be discreet. I told her 
this affair with you would have to be stopped, and 
if she did not do it I’d make it my business to.” 

Dick was shaking; I could feel it in his voice, in his 
words; I could feel his every heart throb. “She told 
me everything about herself — all the miserable life 
she had to lead before Brooke married her, about her 
posing and dancing and struggling ” 


226 


PLAYING THE GAME 


The excessively polite voice interrupted. “Yes, I 
dare say. But she posed because she wanted to, she 
danced because it was in her, because her mother was 
the dancer of Vienna in her day, and when she said 
rd have to launch her into New York’s upperdom if 
— well, I knew she could do anything she set out to, 
and that she wasn’t any worse than most of the women 
— and, by Jove, she’s made them sit up !” An exclama- 
tion from Dick stopped him, but then the voice, still 
oily, went on : “I know you didn’t mean that ! Don’t 
take it so hard, my boy. I’m telling you for your own 
sake. If you hadn’t wanted to marry her, do you sup- 
pose I would have suffered the humiliation of coming 
to you ?” 

“You’re lying! Where are proofs; what can you 
show me? It’s too damnable a thing ” 

“My dear fellow, a man takes his pastimes without 
thinking of consequences. Ask her yourself, ask about 
her life after Brooke died. Talk to the Hungarian 
chap who’s after your little sister. He’ll tell you they 
knew each other in Vienna — too well, I should say, 
for his comfort.” His laugh was very much like a 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOW^N 


227 


leer. “Why do you think she’s put you off so long? 
Because I made her, be — — ” 

A laugh like the blade of a knife cut the word in 
two. “To save me, of course ! Altruism, eh ? Do you 

know what are you ” The words were muttered 

and I lost them. 

“Til forget that, since the question is one of honor 
between gentlemen,” was the reply, though the oil 
of the voice flowed less smoothly. 

“Honor!” Dick laughed loudly. “My God, man, 
can’t you see the humor of it? Honor! Are you so 

utterly lost ” The words may have strangled in 

his throat, but I no longer heard. 

The door of the outer hall had opened, and facing 
me where I sat huddled in my chair, powerless to 
move, stood Robert Stead. As the sharp, broken sen- 
tence came through the partly-open door, he took a 
step forward, his quick eyes traveled past, paused, then 
darted back to me with a look in them a man might 
have feared. 

I tried to speak, but every breath choked me. He 
came over and touched my arm, and it was like a 


PLAYING THE GAME 


current of electricity passing between us. And then 
two great foolish tears rolled down my cheeks. 

^Tve heard, Mr. Stead. I had to listen. I — I 
couldn’t move ” 

‘‘I know how it was.” His voice held the gentle 
quality of a woman’s. ‘Tt’s an ugly thing for a little 
girl’s ears. But don’t worry about Dick. He’s young 
enough to get over this ” 

^‘Then you know?” I sent the startled question to 
him more with eyes than lips. 

'T had a suspicion of the truth long ago. Do you 
remember when I asked you to help me? I thought 
then we might save Dick this experience.” 

‘‘What are we going to do?” I asked helplessly. 

“Let things shape themselves — as they’re bound to, 
any way. I wouldn’t let him know that I’d heard, 
though. It can’t help any. If you could forget all 
about it — won’t you?” His big frame bent over me, 
his strong, muscular hands locked over my cold ones. 
“Don’t you think you could?” 

I looked up at him with a queer, wry little smile. 
“It’s odd how we can see ugly things going on all 


SEVERAL HANDS ARE SHOAVN 229 

about us, and it's comedy, and then when the same 
thing comes our way, it's — it's tragedy." 

He fairly lifted me out of the chair. “It looks to 
me like hysterics; and then I'd be the helpless one, 

my " He caught himself, and the tender woman's 

note in his voice vanished in a laugh. “You're com- 
ing with me back to normal conditions. This isn't 
good for you. We'll drive through the park and 

have luncheon No," as I drew back, “I'm not 

asking whether you want to go. I'm taking you!" 

And I went with him. 


CHAPTER XII 


FATE SCORES 

One is apt to look back upon a riot of events very 
much as one sees a riot of color — confused by details, 
yet never forgetting the force of the thing as a whole. 

That is how I recall what followed the revelation 
at Dick’s office — as a terrible tangle of circumstances 
through which it is almost impossible now to pick 
my way and calmly set down facts as they were. Only 
the hour with Robert Stead stands out distinct, apart 
from the rest — ^the drive through the park and into 
the curving grace of Lafayette Boulevard, late winter 
flirting with early spring and dashing the spice of its 
intrigue through the open cab windows; the luncheon 
at a vain little inn that leaned over the Hudson like 
Narcissus seeking his reflection. Even now I marvel 
at how I was caught up, absorbed, given not a moment 
to think of the experience through which I had just 
passed. 


230 


FATE SCORES 231 

The rest is confusion, horrible realization when I 
was left alone, recollection with the rush of a deluge, 
the bringing myself to face facts; but above all, above 
even the thought of Dick, the fear for Nella, dread lest 
she learn the truth and during the long hours that fol- 
lowed, always recurring the question of how it was 
to be kept from her. 

What fools she had made of us all — Dolly! I 
laughed uproariously for a full three minutes, unable 
to stop myself. She had seen through the sham of us, 
and how little different she was from the women who, 
knowing her history, would have drawn aside their 
skirts. More fascinating, more interesting than any, 
she had easily taken her place as one of them, been 
aped, fawned upon — a woman of the half world had 
mocked the cheap subterfuges to which they resorted, 
the clumsy vulgarity of their affairs, by carrying on 
one under their noses which they never even sus- 
pected, using it as the very means to bring her among 
them. 

No, one could not blame Dolly. She had played a 
daring game, a masterly one, flinging dust in our eyes 
by the very frankness of her position. And, knowing 


PLAYING THE GAME 


her as I did — or did not — I was sure it had been for 
love of the play, for the sheer joy of adventure rather 
than any material advantage, for the fun of 'laughing 
at the world, chuckling it under the chin, pulling its 
nose, tickling its ear,’’ as I had heard her express it. 
The love affair with Dick must have been unsought, 
avoided, even, because of fear of these very conse- 
quences. And love had succeeded in bringing her at 
last to account. 

After the first involuntary recoil I saw Dolly merely 
a secondary figure, one of the beautiful playthings 
fate flings heartlessly into the world of men. It was 
Grant Haywood who stood out of the crash of events, 
pompous, self-indulgent, conscienceless — Nella’s father 
— a smug Satan’s serpent poisoning the life of his 
own child. And for his "pastime” ! I shuddered to 
think of it. The vices of my world — or I might more 
politely say "pastimes” — 'were not unknown to me. I 
was surrounded by men and women of the John van 
Tiel and Evelyn Taghern- Steward type. But Grant 
Haywood was the most exquisite product, the piece 
de resistance of a decaying — yes, as Nella had said — 
an effete civilization. And the final artistic touch to 


FATE SCORES 


233 


it all was that he would go scot free, while only his 
victims suffered. It must have made Mammon laugh 
in his sleeve. 

It was part of the mockery of the life I had to lead 
that I should go on following the regular routine of 
things quite as if nothing else were happening. I re- 
member indefinitely attending a ball that night, talk- 
ing when the string was pulled, dancing when it was 
jerked. Yet I was glad to dance until daylight, glad 
of the blinding glitter of light and jewels, glad of 
the general plunge into the wine cups at the late sup- 
per, that sent me drowsing into forgetfulness. 

IVe no doubt Nella wondered why I laughed so 
idiotically when she pulled me out of the crowd and 
into a corner to whisper that there had been no de- 
velopments as to the pictures. But I saw her catch 
hold of Grant Haywood when he came in later, and 
a few minutes after the two left together. I watched 
them go, trembling for his answers to the questions 
I knew she would put to him and wondering whether 
Dolly, who had not appeared that night, would be 
present at the conference. And all the while I was 


PLAYING THE GAIVIE 


234 ! 

smiling and chatting, even flirting, as though this ball 
"were my first. 

My mother gave a luncheon to the latest importa- 
tion of titled foreigners the following day. I recall 
nothing of it save that it was endless, and after hours 
of waiting I went to the tableau rehearsal at Cissy 
Trances. 

There was always enough noise at the Tranes^ to 
wake one out of any kind of trance, pleasant or other- 
wise. To-day the place was a fair imitation of Babel. 
Lady Chale-Gardner determined to have those to whom 
she was indebted pushed to the fore. Perry as decis- 
ively undertaking to manage the affair, so that his 
name would be mentioned among the first in accounts 
of it, a costumer taking measures of the wrong per- 
sons, chattering groups, suggestions, bickerings, 
rivalry, scrambles for the prettiest parts, and in the 
midst of the melange Monsieur Geraud tearing his 
hair, doing his best to balance diplomacy with art and 
finding it a difficult task. 

The tableaux represented scenes from well-known 
operas, and the responsibility of assigning the various 
parts had fallen to the artist. When I entered the 


FATE SCORES 


g35 


salon, Cissy Trane as Kundry was trying an impro- 
vised pose on the improvised stage. She had flung her 
length across the knees of Fritzy Bigelow, who made 
Parsifal appear more uncomfortable than tempted. 

‘'Oh, here’s Gypsy,” she called and raised herself 
from her position as enchantress. “We’ve saved the 
baron for your La Tosca, my dear. Is there any one 
else you’d rather have?” was added confidentially. 
“Jimmy, perhaps?” 

Gypsy, knowing that she was observed, shrugged 
indifferently, the while the baron’s name had flooded 
her brain with memories of the preceding day. For 
Baron de Berenzig had since then ceased to be con- 
sidered in the light of an unwelcome suitor or even 
in his more recent role of disinterested friend. He 
was merely a link in the chain of circumstances that 
yesterday’s revelation had pieced together. He had 
known Dolly “to his discomfort.” Did that mean that 
the domestic troubles of the de Berenzig family had 
been not so much due to the baron’s overwhelming 
love for me, but rather because the “little Madame la 
Baronne” had been unconventional enough at an earlier 
date to rebel against the eternal triangle ? I could only 


236 


PLAYING THE GAME 


wonder, as I answered Cissy, that it didn’t matter 
whom I was to have the pleasure of ‘"knifing.” 

“But the baron would make such a really sweet 
Mephisto,” suggested Jason Miles, who had been 
forced to relinquish “Marguerite” to one of the Graice 
girls in the interest of a recently ordered portrait. 
“Don’t you think so?” She leaned gracefully against 
Evvy Bingham’s shoulder, just touching it. 

Evvy, who had just come in with Baron de Beren- 
zig straight from a soul-satisfying luncheon at Del’s, 
nodded heavily. He was more of a connoisseur on 
champagne than Mephistos. The baron came over to 
me. 

“I think I am content with the role Monsieur 
Geraud has given to me,” he said slowly. 

When we were called to the stage I went feeling 
like a mechanical doll, all glassy stare and stiff joints 
that needed oiling. I was but vaguely conscious of 
my body following Geraud’s directions. 

There were to be two scenes from the opera — one 
Scarpia demanding of Tosca the price of her lover’s 
freedom; the other the finale of the act, with Scarpia 


FATE SCORES 237 

dead and La Tosca bending to place the lighted candles 
at either side of his body. 

Geraud danced about as one pose after another was 
tried and none satisfied him. 

‘'Abandon — abandon, that is what we want, 
friends ! he cried at last. He turned beseechingly to 
the baron: “Forget that you are you; forget every- 
thing save that you are a man who loves her and she 
is a woman and hates you!” 

Perry on a center table gave a loud chuckle. ‘‘Bet- 
ter take two others, Geraud, who haven’t any personal 
feelings in the matter.” 

I laughed with him, my one thought being that it 
was the wisest thing to do. But Baron de Berenzig 
went a vivid scarlet. His eyes drove themselves into 
mine, his teeth came together with a sharp click. The 
mist vanished from my brain. I stared at him in 
amazement, noticing for the first time that his eyes 
were bloodshot and their expression not quite clear. 

“Abandon, monsieur,” he muttered in French; “you 
shall have it!” And suddenly he grasped my arms, 
dragging me to the sofa near the center of the stage, 
bending over me so that his face almost touched mine 


238 


PLAYING THE GAME 


I shrank back, all numbness gone from my senses, 
recoiling from the too evident suggestion of his breath 
on my face. ‘'You laugh,’' he sent the words tingling 
into my ear, “you think it amusing to — make game of 
me. You have played with me, held me up for ridi- 
cule ” 

“Be careful, please!” I begged. “Monsieur Ge- 
raud ” 

But the artist had not heard. He was expressing 
to a group of onlookers his delight at the success of 
our efforts. “Now we have it I That is better. Once 
again, my friends!” 

I had pushed Baron de Berenzig from me and 
sprang to my feet, the room whirling as I caught hold 
of the sofa to steady myself. “Wasn’t that enough 
for one afternoon? I’m a little — tired.” 

“Oh, come, Gypsy, you didn’t tire so easily the night 
you danced with Carley !” “It’s a confoundedly pretty 
picture. Let’s have it again!” came from those near 
the stage. 

“If you will, mademoiselle,” pleaded Geraud. 

I laughed to hide my trembling. Oh, if it’s as im- 
portant as all that- ” 


FATE SCORES 


S39 


But this time I drew back instinctively. The man 
as he leaned over me was transformed, no longer the 
suitor pleading his cause, no longer the friend he had 
chosen to paint himself, no longer even the lover de- 
manding that I hear him, but a Scarpia, flushed with 
wine, determined, relentless! Nella’s warning to be 
careful came back to me — I was afraid of him. I 
wanted to cry out as he came closer, almost suffocat- 
ing me, and yet I dared not. I reached up my hands 
to push him away. He caught them, his pupils di- 
lated, and as a murmur of approval floated toward us 
he laughed — and brought his lips down to mine! 

For a moment I thought I was going to faint; I 
prayed that I might. But it is only in books that one 
loses consciousness at just the right time. I heard 
the exclamation of surprise, the stir of excitement; I 
saw the baron still bending over me, triumphant at 
last ; I felt his lips as they touched mine. 

It had been only the fraction of a second, yet I re- 
alized with unequivocal distinctness all it meant — 
that his declaration of friendship had been a ruse, a 
trick to enable him to be seen about with me until 
some occasion should arise to force affairs to a climax. 


MO PLAYING THE GAME 

There was nothing left for me to do. I could only 
accept the hints, the congratulations, or sacrifice what 
reputation I had left. I had defied the unwritten law 
of my world — that money or position made a man eli- 
gible for matrimony and were the only adjuncts a girl 
must consider. In my efforts to evade its edict I had 
even made myself conspicuous after a fashion re- 
served exclusively for matrons. And it would clamor 
for the penalty I had to pay. An engagement was the 
only explanation of the scene just enacted. I had to 
smile dumbly when Baron de Berenzig intimated that 
it would be “accounted for in the near future.” 

I felt shaky, uncertain, all the fight gone out of me. 
The strain of yesterday and to-day had left me too 
limp to combat the possibilities of to-morrow. I tried 
to put aside the tragics of the case as the baron, accom- 
panying me as a matter of course when I left, sat 
facing me in the motor, begging me to believe it was 
love that had carried him off his feet, to give him the 
opportunity to prove his devotion — in short, humbly 
asking me to marry him, when he knew there was 
nothing else I could do. 

After all, there were numberless girls who had done 


FATE SCORES 


241 


the same thing. Why should not I yield gracefully 
now that the game was fairly lost? Even Nella had 
eventually trodden the beaten track and was satisfied. 
It was quite a relief to have at last made up one’s 
mind, even if the “making up” had been involuntary. 
I was destined, it seemed, to become Madame la 
Baronne de Berenzig, and had been from the very first. 
Otherwise why would Fate have made all her plays 
against me? I had dashed my head too often against 
the stone wall of convention not to know how hard 
it was, and it had been proven there wasn’t even a 
chance of scaling it. 

When I reached home after leaving the baron at 
his apartments, with an agreement to talk things over 
more calmly the following day — I can’t recall now 
what I said in the motor, but it must have been inco- 
herent — I found a scribbled line from Nella. 

As I read it everything else, even my own affair, 
was momentarily of minor importance. It had been 
written at three o’clock of that morning — after her 
interview with her father ! 

“I must see you,” it said. “I’ve made a discovery 
that’s so despicable it ought to be funny. But I can’t 


M2 PLAYING THE GAME 

laugh. I’m all feverish and parched and my head is 
singing. Come to me, Gypsy, as soon as you get this. 
And don’t let any one see it.” 

The note had been waiting for me since early after- 
noon and it was now five. As I hurried down the 
steps again I could hear the grandfather’s clock in 
the upper foyer striking like the tolling of a bell. I 
felt suddenly as I had the night I dashed down the 
corridor at Woodmar to find Nella half fainting on 
the bed. There wasn’t a doubt as to what her dis- 
covery had been, but I dreaded to hear it from her. 

*‘Miss Penning?” I asked hastily as the butler ad- 
mitted me. 

His face as he turned toward me was white as his 
powdered hair. ‘‘Upstairs, miss,” he said laconically 
and looked after me as I flew past him up the steps. 

I stopped at the entrance to Nella’s apartments. 
Voices came out to me, voices with strange, harsh 
notes in them. The door of the dainty Empire sitting- 
room was open and I went in, recalling, as one so 
often thinks of trivial things at tense moments, how 
Rutherford Penning had railed against his step- 
daughter’s extravagance when she planned the decora- 


FATE SCORES 


243 


tions, and how finally Nella had settled for them from 
Grant Haywood’s monthly allowance to her. 

The green and gold satin nest was deserted save 
where Billy’s daily offering of American Beauties 
drooped wilting in their vases. I took a step into her 
boudoir — only the tick of the Dresden clock on the 
mantel greeted me. The voices came from farther 
on — from Nella’s bedroom. 

As I hesitated, the door of the bedroom opened and 
Jeanne, Nella’s maid, sped through it into my arms. 
‘'Mad’moiselle, mon Dieu!” She sprang out of them 
and stood trembling. ‘‘Mad’moiselle, she have tol’ me 
not to wake ’er ; she wish to sleep, she say. I wait an’ 
wait — an’ when I go in — — ” 

A wave of terror swept over me. I pushed her 
aside so that she sank a heap on the floor. I caught 
myself shaking on the threshold, then dashed into the 
room beyond. 

The housekeeper was standing at the foot of the 
bed, the telephone clutched wildly in her hand. Two 
housemaids were staring helplessly over the footboard, 
a third crouched in a corner, frantically wringing her 


244 PLAYING THE GAME 

hands. It seemed centuries before I crossed the room 
and sank down beside the bed. 

Nella, her eyes closed in what appeared to be peace- 
ful rest, was lying with one arm flung over the lace 
coverlet, the other behind her head. Not a movement 
stirred the bedclothes ; the face against the pillows was 
waxen — only the two lines at the corners of the mouth 
were deeply furrowed, as though cut with a knife. 

^‘Vm trying to get a doctor,” the housekeeper’s thin 
voice wailed miles away. only called us five 

minutes ago — I never heard of such carelessness. If 
Mrs. Penning was only here !” 

But I kept staring and staring at Nella, and finally 
I reached out and touched her. I can never tell how 
much courage it required, nor how the feel of the 
cold flesh sent me shuddering back again. I swayed 
against the low reading-table and a bottle toppled over 
into my lap. It contained the little white tablets — the 
'‘doctor’s prescription” Nella took to make her sleep. 
On the table was the glass in which the dose had been 
dissolved. 

A great hope sprang up in me. In her agitation she 
had taken a slight overdose and this was the result — 


FATE SCORES 


245 


a state of coma that would pass when the doctor ar- 
rived. I dragged myself suddenly across the floor and 
with my hand trembling so that I could scarcely hold 
it caught up a mirror from the dressing-table. 

“For God’s sake, miss, what are you going to do?” 
one of the maids whimpered. 

The housekeeper, having summoned the family phy- 
sician, came over and touched my arm. “Come away,” 
she begged. 

But I caught my breath and pulled myself up close 
to the figure on the bed. I held the mirror against the 
parted lips and waited, while the endless ticking of 
the clock in the adjoining room sounded loud as the 
crack of doom. 

And then came the sharp ring of a bell; footsteps 
tore up the steps. I drew my free hand across my 
eyes and forced myself to look down at the face of 
the glass. Not a sign of mist marred the surface— 
it was as clear as when I had taken it up ! 

I remember gasping for breath like a man under 
water. Then I must have shrieked, for I can still hear 
a cry ringing out. After that came blessed darkness. 

The voice of Mrs. Penning was the first to greet me 


246 


PLAYING THE GAME 


when I regained consciousness. It came from an ad- 
joining room and I looked about dizzily, to find my- 
self on a couch in the boudoir. A maid was bathing 
my head in eau de cologne, another with smelling 
salts in her hand bent over me. 

‘The papers must not know,’' Nella’s mother was 
moaning. “We must keep it from the reporters; it 
must be kept out of the newspapers.” It sounded 
monotonous as a dirge. 

I started up. “Is she — is she dead?” It was all I 
could do to say the word. 

One of the maids nodded and frightened tears raced 
down her cheeks. 

“It was an accident, tell Mrs. Penning. I have 
proof ” I found myself saying dazedly. “An ac- 

cident,” I kept repeating, “do you hear?” I gripped 
the girl’s shoulder and shook it. “I want to see Mrs. 
Penning. I must tell her 

Nella’s mother came in, weeping weakly, painful 
streaks making grotesque patterns across the powder 
on her face. “Oh, my dear, to think that you should 
have been the first! Isn’t it too dreadful? I don’t 
know why she should ” 


FATE SCORES 


m 

‘‘She didn’t!’’ I almost shouted. “I tell you I have 
a letter from her saying that she wanted to see me 
to-day, asking me to come. Here,” I pulled Nella’s 
note from the gold mesh bag attached to my bracelet, 
then pushed it back again. “No, you can’t see it! 
She said I must not let any one ” 

Rutherford Penning had come in from the bed- 
room. He sent the servants away and led his wife 
to a chair, gently stroking her shoulder. “It’s all 
right, my dear. Don’t worry. It was accidental. 
They’ve fixed on asphyxiation. There’ll be no men- 
tion of the morphine. We’ll have to buy off the coroner 
and his crew, but ” 

I could have shrieked again. Was no one thinking 
of Nella ? “An accident ! An accident !” I thought I 
should go mad hearing them repeat the word. If 
only I could have given up the note and quieted them ! 
But even in my irresponsible condition I realized that 
the scandal it would bring to light must be avoided 
at all costs. 

He came over to me. “You poor child, you’re all 
upset, and no wonder! I’m going to send you home 
with some one, and be careful not to say anything ” 


248 PLAYING THE GAME 

He helped me up and went down the stairs with me. 

“On the whole, I think I’d better take you myself.” 

“Don’t let any one see me — no one^ — do you hear?” 
I clung to his arm as we drew up before my door. “I 
want to be alone — ^alone. I must be!” If only the 
tears had come to my relief ! But my teeth were chat- 
tering and I felt unsteady on my feet. “You tell them.” 
I pushed him into the lighted library, where I could 
hear my mother angrily questioning a maid as to my 
whereabouts. 

When I reached my room I locked both doors and 
flung myself on to a couch. A weighted pendulum was 
pounding in my head, and it was bobbing back and 
forth like that of a Japanese figure. I had no power 
to control it. 

I struggled for the tears that would not come. Yet 
my mind was astonishingly active. 

All the terrible trial of the last few days, all the 
winter’s misery, had culminated in this. It was the 
work of the system — the insatiable social system that 
produced such men as Grant Haywood, the system of 
which Nella and I and all the rest were slaves. Nella 
had gone down under it, and I ” 


FATE SCORES M9 

It had robbed me of hopes, of ideals ; it had wrung 
from me all that was dear; it had laughed at me and 
thrust me back into a man’s arms each time I had 
succeeded in freeing myself. It had wounded Dick, 
taken Nella from me. It was an unappeasable brute, 
crushing the souls from its victims, mocking their 
struggles to survive. It twisted and turned them in 
its great claws, making of them creatures of the senses 
like itself or gloating over their impotent efforts to 
tear from its grasp. 

I sat up, pushing the hair from my eyes. There was 
a throbbing behind them and they saw things red. If 
only I could keep my head from bobbing as though it 
were on wires! If only the tears would come! 

I wondered why I should go on living in a world I 
despised, a world that had nothing to give me, not 
even a taste of love. This afternoon I had resigned 
myself to the inevitable. But was there no way out — 
had not Nella shown it to me? 

Nella was dead! Before I had cringed from the 
word; now there was infinite peace in it. I wanted 
to be free of lying, of deceit, of hypocrisy, of the vile- 
ness of life as I had learned to know it. I loathed the 


250 


PLAYING THE GAME 


present, I dreaded the future — and Nella had shown 
me the way out. She had said I would fight to the 
death ; I had and I would ! 

I stood up — almost steadily now — and rang for my 
maid, unlocking the door so that she could enter, as 
usual, directly after she* knocked. When she came I 
told her I would not be down for dinner and that 
I was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. 

I stood listening until the outer door had closed and 
there was silence. 

Then my calmness deserted me. I wondered vague- 
ly whether I should have the courage. I was afraid — 
I felt so frightfully alone. The pendulum in my head 
kept swinging back and forth. I thought it would 
never stop. 

But after a moment I saw Nella’s face, the peace 
of sleep upon it. It seemed to be smiling at me. I 
felt suddenly blinded — my eyes must have closed. 
When they opened it was to search for a label of 
warning among the contents of my medicine chest. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE WINNER 

I LOOKED Up at the strange figures hovering about 
me. Among them I made out my mother's face, but 
it wore an intensely human look ; I scarcely recognized 
it. I searched vaguely for Nella. She had been be- 
side me as we floated out to meet the horizon, and 
then a giant wave had curled over, sweeping me back 
to shore. The murmur of a surging sea was still in 
my ears. 

I tried to raise myself. Then acute physical pain 
hurled me back to familiar surroundings. The strange 
figures resolved themselves into physicians and nurses ; 
the shore and the sea vanished. Only my mother's 
face remained, and dimly I saw my father at the other 
end of the room. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out 
the reality of failure. It was more unbearable than 
the bodily suffering each second of consciousness in- 
tensified. 


251 


252 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Death had been comparatively peaceful, and now 
this was indicative of life — these ugly means of res- 
toration, this helplessness, the awakening to pain. In 
a flash it recurred to me — all that the return would 
mean. I didn’t want to live — the words kept ringing 
in my ears. I lay limp, resisting the inclination to 
move, struggling to lose myself again in insensibility. 
But there was no release. Fate had decreed that I 
should go on and on, a pawn in the endless game ! 

I must go back to the treadmill. Life was closing 
me in as surely as the grave. It was the crowning 
irony! Death had tossed out a willing victim, while 
others were probably clinging desperately to the last 
breath. 

During the week of uncertainty that followed — of 
torture for me — I prayed for relief from the passion 
of memories forcing me to the edge of a chasm that 
meant chaos, to leave me suspended there. And all the 
while I felt the physician watching me curiously, as 
if I were some new specimen worthy of experiment. 

‘Tt’s a harder tussle than it ought to be,” he told 
one of the nurses, “but we’ll win out.” 

They exchanged glances and he came over to the 


THE WINNER 


253 


bed, muttering something about ^‘hysterical women 
who had nothing better to do than kill themselves/’ 

So he knew — they all knew probably! Oh, yes, I 
was a bungler, a hopeless one. My mother’s face, with 
that strange new look of anxiety, told that she sus- 
pected. My father — I could not guess his thoughts. 
And Dick — why was he not here ? Where had he gone 
after the interview with Grant Haywood? What had 
happened to Dolly ? A thousand questions haunted 
me like specters. 

But one afternoon Dick came tearing in, disheveled, 
dusty from travel. 

“Good God, you let me hear news like this from a 
stranger!” came from the next room. “If it hadn’t 
been for Stead ” 

“You forgot you made no attempt to leave an ad- 
dress.” My mother’s voice was quite familiarly cold. 

“What has happened to her ? She was well 

enough ” The next moment I was gathered into 

his arms. 

Then for the first time tears came. I sobbed against 
his shoulder, every breath racking, bending, breaking 
me. I was clinging to Dick, trying to make out the 


254 


PLAYING THE GAME 


lines of his face, to mark the changes in it, asking 
myself multitudes of questions about him. The fires 
were commencing to burn where before had been dead 
ashes. 

^‘How do you think I found out you were ill?’^ he 
asked a few days later. He was sitting beside me. 
The nurse, tempted by the bribe of a motor ride, had 
resigned her post as sentinel. It was the first time 
my brother and I had been left together. was half 
way to the coast when a message came from Bob 
Stead 

*‘So you and I were both — running away, Dick ?’^ 

His eyes tossed me two queries at once. 

I answered the first. ‘^Yes, I know — about Dolly.” 

*^You know !” He looked at me, incredulous for an 
instant, then held me close that I might not see his 
face. 

I forced myself to go back over the details of that 
hour at his office — for me they were written in blood. 

wanted to tell you, but I didn’t dare. I tried to keep 
it from Nella, but she found out, too. Think what it 
meant for her to learn that she’d been the tool of her 


THE WINNER g55 

father. Fve lived through every minute as if Fd 
been with her.'’ 

Dick had risen suddenly and stood over me. The 
lines of his face were graven hard as stone, the veins 
in his hand rose like blue welts. ‘TFs been hell, that's 
the simplest way to put it! When one of the lower 
animals is a danger to the community he's put out 
of the way. But a man who's lower than any of them 
roams at will, protected by the law — ^particularly if 
he's one of the kings of this country and enjoys their 
divine rights. England sets us the pattern — we follow 
suit. Royalty can do no wrong, and the king's favor- 
ites come under the same immunity. Unfortunately, 
Dolly Brooke missed your society woman's schooling. 

She had a conscience " He brought a letter from 

his pocket and handed it to me. *T was to give you 
this if ever you should learn the truth about her. It 
was enclosed in mine." 

‘Then you didn’t see her after " 

“No; I ran away, as you said — ^but not from her. 
I was afraid if I had to meet Haywood again Fd 
wring his neck. And Stead objected to that, said he'd 
get his just deserts without my intervention. But, 


256 PLAYING THE GAME 

God, I don't see where they've come in!" His hands, 
tense and strained, linked themselves across his fore- 
head. He turned from me. 

Blinded so that for an instant the words were a blur, 
I tore open the letter. It had been written the day of 
Nella's death, when Dolly and I must have been equally 
on the verge of madness. The thing in my hands 
might have been the woman's soul. It seemed to writhe 
under my touch as though the burning words it held 
were wounds self-inflicted. 

“If ever I regret this it will only be part of my ex- 
piation." That was the abrupt beginningr “I told 
you once to snap your fingers at the world — to laugh 
at it — not to care. I showed you my cards then plain- 
ly, Gypsy. I hadn't ever cared ! It was the combined 
spirit of an English father sufficient unto himself and 
the dancing girl who pleased his fancy to the extent of 
becoming my mother. All my life I've been an Arab, 
picking my fortune wherever I went, hugging the joy 
of not knowing what to-morrow would bring forth, 
never thinking other than that every corner of experi- 
ence was open to me, thirsting to drink life to the 
dregs without guessing how bitter the dregs would be. 


THE WINNER 257 

From the day when I first watched my mother dancing 
her way into royal favor I wanted to do the same. 
That was always the acme of my ambition — my mother 
was a goddess, I prayed to be like her. 

“All I have told you about myself is true. All you 
have since learned is doubtless true, too. Fve never 
feared truth. When you asked me to meet Baron de 
Berenzig I did not flinch. I knew all he could tell, 
yet when we came face to face it was he who was 
afraid. I had last seen him exchanging blows with 
his own father at my apartment in Paris. At the time 
I had been playing them, nameless rivals, against each 
other for weeks and chuckled over the game. But 
when de Berenzig and I met that afternoon at Geraud^s 
studio he trembled. A man may be a villain of deepest 
dye and feel no fear ; he may even pride himself. But 
he dreads being proven the fool more than the thought 
of death. I told the story to Nella's father that night 
and we laughed over it together. 

“You see, I am sparing myself nothing, Gypsy. I 
am showing what I was — hard clay. The heart I 
have known so short a time is being torn open, spitted, 
held to shrivel under the fire of your condemnation. 


S58 PLAYING THE GAME 

It was Dick who first showed me its existence, and I 
hated him for it. I fought desperately against loving 
him. I had never in my life felt such an emotion for 
any one. My mother I had worshiped ; the man I mar- 
ried had been a means of exploring new territory. He 
was an idler, a rich dilettante whose advances I ignored 
until he proposed marriage — an accepted course now 
among women of the stage and studios, but quite an 
original move then. 

‘‘From the day I became Mrs. Brooke my life was 
like that of any middle-class woman who marries for 
money — restlessly respectable. It was not until I was 
free again and had met Grant Haywood that the old 
temptation to play with life returned — the fruit of 
Tantalus dangling from the hand of a man whose 
family held the reins of New York society. For months 
I laughed, not in my sleeve, but outright at you, at 
Nella, at the social marionettes in general who looked 
to me to teach them how to live. If it hadn^t been for 
the fun of that Fm afraid I should have found your 
world hopelessly dull even in its wickedness. 

“And then Dick came and against my will tugged 
the strings of my heart into action. After that you 


THE WINNER 


259 


played on them too, Gypsy, you and Nella. For days 
I battled with myself. I had reached the dregs of 
the cup and they were miserably bitter. That which 
should have colored my life was painting it with the 
drab of remorse and dread. The night you questioned 
me at Woodmar I was tempted to put my arms about 
you and pour out the whole tale. But even then it was 
too late. Dick had told me he loved me and I had 
given him kisses instead of a confession. 

‘‘After that I was like a prisoner awaiting life sen- 
tence. I knew I could never have my love, but that 
was the lesser agony. Though there was no fear that 
the man who could expose me would run the risk of 
what such an exposure would mean to him, I was 
under constant threat that he would go to Dick, as 
he eventually did. Gypsy, I would have given my soul 
to keep the truth from Dick — that was the one time I 
feared it. 

“It was the ecstasy of torture, learning that he knew. 
I thought it was all I could stand. But then — Nella. 
I shall see her always as she was that night her father 
brought her to me to be given an explanation of the 
pictures you had seen. He had telephoned first to tell 


260 


PLAYING THE GAME 


me that he professed to know nothing of them and 
looked to me to lie out of it. I can still see her eyes 
traveling from the man to me and back again as the 
truth gradually dawned on her. And then, there was 
not even reproach as they met mine at last — only 
horror. 

‘‘A murderer always fears the scene of his crime. 

I feel as though I had killed Nella ” 

For a moment I could read no further. I saw only 
a picture of Dolly as she wrote, the life crushed from 
her beautiful body, the laughter gone from her eyes. 
Later the letter told me she was going abroad as soon 
as she could do so without arousing suspicion. 

“I am sending you this by way of Dick, for I shall 
probably leave within a few days without seeing either 
of you. It is to tell you, in case you should know the 
truth, that I shall never be hard clay again. I have 
developed an infinite capacity for suffering.’^ 

I read the letter a second and a third time, and 
then I met Dick’s eyes over the pages. He reached 
out his hand. But I held them close to me. 

‘‘Do you want to — read it ?” I asked. 


THE WINNER 261 

thought she’d want both destroyed,” he said sig- 
nificantly. 

I gave over the sheets of crowded, uneven lettering 
and watched as he tore them into tiny bits, letting them 
sift through his fingers back into the envelope. But 
every word they held was seared into my memory. 
For days I could think of nothing else. 

Then convalescence propped me into a chair close 
to the sunlight and I realized that I was getting nearer 
to the trial I should have to face — visitors, endless 
queries, inquisitiveness bordering on inquisition — and 
Baron de Berenzig. Of course, I knew now I should 
never marry him, but I likewise did not know how I 
was to get out of it. Again I was an actress learning 
a part, waiting for my cues from the world for whom 
I performed. Was more of the truth suspected than 
that the shock of Nella’s death had caused my illness? 

It was to be the same old monotonous round day 
after day, night after night, with now not even Nella 
to turn to, just a big emptiness of everything. 

A chance encounter met me at the turn of the road — 
an oblong, business-like note among the heavy cream 
and mauve and scented ones — merely a line from Ruth 


S62 


PLAYING THE GAME 


Cavanagh expressing regret that illness had prevented 
my seeing her the day she called and wishing me well. 
I laughed as I read. My appointment with her! It 
had probably been for the very hour when I was being 
ushered with a flourish back through the gates of life. 
What a splendid story she’d have had for her paper 
had the facts of the case been known to her ! Life was 
something of a jester, after all. During the days when 
she could fling off experience like a worn-out garment 
Dolly had warned me that I must laugh back when I 
found it mocking me. Well, perhaps I should learn to 
eventually. 

I sent word to Miss Cavanagh that I would see her 
the following week. It was rather a relief, meeting a 
stranger among the first. But before she called Dick 
had dropped in to tea with another visitor, Robert 
Stead. His card had been among the number at- 
tached to floral offerings, that were duly acknowledged 
by my mother’s secretary, but that he should be sufli- 
ciently concerned to come himself made me feel ab- 
surdly self-conscious. I tingled with a hot flush of 
embarrassment at the recollection of how, the last time 
we met, I had let him figuratively pick me up like a 


THE WINNER 263 

baby to carry me out of sordid reality, and I wondered 
whether his keen mind had divined all that followed. 
He had a habit of coming upon me at crucial mo- 
ments, of always managing to see me, somehow, with 
the mask off. 

That night my mother questioned me about him — 
curiously. We occasionally slipped into conversation 
these days. The human look I had seen on her face 
that first hour of consciousness was not a dream fancy. 
Once or twice I caught it again — astonishingly real. 
I wondered whether she guessed it all — the tragic- 
comedy of my attempted exit. Certainly I puzzled 
her. She had given up trying to fathom me, had al- 
most resigned herself to accept me as I was. The 
softened mood would probably pass once I was well 
again, but meanwhile it offered a tentative companion- 
ship. 

There had been one day when the barometer indi- 
cated the return of sudden squalls. I had seen her 
reading, with a smile of satisfaction, the card on a 
basket of jonquils and early daisies. 

‘‘That's from Baron de Berenzig?” I put the ques- 


£64 


PLAYING THE GAME 


tion, feeling sure of the answer. ‘I’m practically en- 
gaged to him, you know.” 

It was very evident that she did know. 

“But I’m not going to marry him,” I added, rather 
enjoying the gesture of amazement that surprised even 
her. 

Then the lips came together in the old firm line. 
“Have you forgotten that you permitted him to — to 
kiss you” — she uttered the word with a shiver of dis- 
dain — “in public ?” 

“He didn’t ask my permission.” 

“You must have given him the opportunity ” 

“He took it.” 

“Well, of course your reputation is your own.” My 
mother shrugged. 

“How can you say that? I’ve never owned a shred 
of it.” 

My mother was fast losing patience. “Well, you’d 
better marry somebody before nobody wants you.” It 
was almost epigrammatic, and I laughed. 

But fortunately the physician arrived on the scene 
at the psychological moment. 


THE WINNER 265 

It was not until I mention Robert Stead’s visit 
that the subject was again suggested. 

'"Ah,” my mother regarded me quizzically, '^you are 
cleverer than I thought. Of course, he’s nobody,” she 
slowly added, “but, then, there’s always the possibility 
of something big politically or even a diplomatic ” 

I flushed as though he were in the room listening to 
her. It was so cheap, so common, this weighing of 
every man in the balance of matrimony. It seemed an 
insult to the man in question. What a lot of little 
nothings we must seem to him, anyway ! 

Yet the following day I was talking to Ruth Cava- 
nagh about the “possibilities” of the society girl, quite 
as if such things existed for her. The young news- 
paper woman came straight to the point of her visit, 
her magazine article on the “Evolution of the Ameri- 
can Princess.” 

“You look just the proper subject to interview — 
languid and beautiful and all lacy froth.” She sat 
facing me, energetic, tailor-made to the point of se- 
verity. The contrast must have impressed her as it 
did me. ‘It is good of you to see me so soon,” she 
said. 


S66 


PLAYING THE GAME 


''It’s interesting,” I corrected, fluffing the mass of 
pillows behind me into a semblance of comfort, '‘a 
glimpse into a new world for me. I like to think of a 
girl — a girl like myself — being part of the machinery 
that sets things in motion.” 

We spoke a while of my mode of life in general. 
There was something fascinating about her spontane- 
ous interest in things, the big vitality of her. I wanted 
to keep her with me as long as I could, to feel the spirit 
of her dancing through the room. Finally she put a 
more intimate question to me. A little demon of 
mockery tempted my reply. Oh, yes, I was fast learn- 
ing to laugh back ! 

“If you’ll promise not to use my name I’ll tell you 
the truth. Otherwise — well, you’re quite used to print- 
ing the other thing, aren’t you?” 

She nodded emphatically. I didn’t know whether 
it was in answer to my first or second statement. But 
I leaned forward in my chair and the pillow behind 
my head slipped away unnoticed. 

“Well, then, there isn’t one more opportunity for 
the American princess than for a princess of any other 
country. Her range of possibilities extends from dis- 


THE WINNER 267 

sipated youths in turned-up trousers to dissipated age 
in turned-down collars. Matrimony fills her horizon 
from the cradle to — the ballroom. After it is accom- 
plished it sinks into insignificance, but before, every- 
thing she does, says or thinks is toward that end. 
Her dowry is settled upon from infancy and grows 
in proportion to her father’s fortune. The sole dif' 
ference is that in Europe it’s a matter of business, 
whereas here it goes to the bridegroom more politely 
as a gift. If she has talents they’re developed only 
to the point of being accessories. The dream of her 
life is to marry so that she can wear a larger tiara 
than her best friend. If she wants to do anything 
else she’s eccentric; if she does do anything else she’s 
impossible.” 

Miss Cavanagh laughed. ‘'And all the while she’s 
probably bored.” 

“Bored — oh, yes, I suppose so; but she isn’t given 
time to realize it. She’s tired more than anything else. 
Boredom is supposed to come only after marriage, 
and then, of course, there are always new fields to 
conquer.” 

“Doesn’t it ever occur to her that she might take 


268 


PLAYING THE GAME 


up some serious work and break away from it 
all?” 

In spite of her impersonal tone I felt that the ques- 
tion applied directly to me. 

‘‘I told you matrimony is the only work she is trained 
for. What other ” 

‘‘Settlement work, for instance,” she suggested. 

I laughed now. “That was a fad several years ago. 
I tried it. The people were absolutely hostile. They 
looked on me as one of the ‘idle rich,’ without realizing 
that I was more a worker than any of them, with no 
hours — not even the ones given to them — off duty.” 

“Why doesn’t she take up something practical, after 
she’s tried society, that is, and found it wanting? 
There’s bookbinding, for instance, or even stenography 
and typewriting. Why not study it as though her 
living depended on it? You’ve no idea what a tonic 
work is. Carlyle spoke of it years ago, and others have 
been telling us so ever since. There’s nothing in the 
world more interesting, I assure you.” 

“Miss Cavanagh has been giving me the secret of 
happiness,” I told Dick when he came in and was pre- 
sented to her as she was leaving. 


THE WINNER 269 

She gave me a bright smile. ‘‘If you ever think of 
it seriously drop in to see me and we’ll talk it over.” 

I did think of it seriously. It seized hold of me. 
The idea of some definite work to do acted as a stimu- 
lant. I suggested it to Dick and he laughed — in fact, 
it must have seemed rather a joke to him. 

“Take up stenography and typewriting,” he teased. 
“You may find it useful some day.” He raised my 
chin and looked down with his old smile of impulsive 
tenderness. “Don’t you know what you were made 
for, Gypsy?” 

I shook my head. “I wish I did.” 

“Why, for some big man’s love, of course.” 

I thought of Nella’s words, and only a big loneli- 
ness seized me. 

“So the little baldheaded Jap didn’t prove a mascot 
last year. Poor Bob !” Dick still smiled. 

“Dick,” I caught hold of his arm with both hands, 
“did he send that? I thought ” 

I looked up into Dick’s smiling face. Robert Stead ! 
It was as though a veil were torn from my eyes, and 
I could have laughed at their blindness. All the rest- 
less, vain longing of the past months — what had it 


PLAYING THE GAME 


no 

meant? All my rebellion against the life that was 
mine — was this the explanation? 

Robert Stead! I stretched out my arms a little 
wildly. Dick flung back his head with a satisfied 
laugh. 

But now the world might wait for its denouement, 
and — well, it waited! 

Ruth Cavanagh was dining recently with Judge and 
Mrs. Robert Stead and the latter’s brother — who must 
still be known briefly as ‘‘Dick.” They had been dis- 
cussing the school of realism in fiction. 

“Gypsy,” Miss Cavanagh observed, “you shouldn’t 
have made me mother confessor. There’s a bee buz- 
zing in my bonnet now and it won’t leave me in peace 
until I’ve turned your story into type and given it to 
the world in black and white.” 

And she has! 


THE END 


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